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lASd  and  Sea 


Tne  Companion  Sef\ie5 
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PeRRY/AASON  &  CO.HPANY 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


PRESENTED  BY 

PROF.  CHARLES  A.  KOFOID  AND 

MRS.  PRUDENCE  W.  KOFOID 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/bylandseaOObostrich 


The  Companion  Series 


By  Land  and  Sea 


H 


Crt^s     e^c>mP^>rx\orx 


cLkixns 


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1909 

Perry  Mason  Company, 
BOSTON,  Mass. 


Copyright,   1894, 

BY   PERRY    MASON  COMPANY 

Boston,  Mass. 


CONTENTS. 


GLIMPSES    OF    EUROPE. 


LONDON        .... 

W.  H.  RIDEING 

3 

IN    WESTMINSTER  ABBEY 

ARCHDEACON  FARRAR 

6 

SCENES   IN   HOLLAND      . 

ALEPH  PAGE 

12 

WORK   AND   PLAY   IN   BELGIUM 

E.  H.  TERRELL 

i6 

BOYS   AND   GIRLS   OF   PARIS 

M.  E.  BLAKE 

22 

TOLEDO   AND  CORDOVA 

LOUISE  CHANDLER  MOULTON 

27 

THE  VENETIAN  GONDOLA 

HENRY   BACON 

33 

A  CLIMB  UP  MOUNT  VESUVIUS 

E.   N.   ROLFE 

37 

ALPINE  VILLAGE  LIFE      . 

.       S.  H.  M.  BYERS 

42 

DOWN  THE  MOSELLE      - 

.     REV.  MORTON  DEXTER 

47 

SWEDEN        .           ,           .           . 

W.  W.  THOMAS,  JR. 

53 

LIFE   IN  NORWAY 

WILLIAM  H.  CORY 

6i 

THE    AMERICAN    TROPICS. 


AN   ODD  OLD  CITY   IN   THE  ANDES 

CARNIVAL   IN    LIMA 

A   VENEZUELAN   RAILWAY 

THE   LAND  OF  THE   LLAMA       . 

AN   EVENING   IN   A   BRAZILIAN    FOREST 

SOUTH   AMERICAN   GAMES 

A  YOUNG  AND  GROWING   MOUNTAIN 

IN  THE  GRAND  PLAZA  OF   MEXICO 

THE  BOYS  OF  MEXICO 

THE  SEA  OF   THE   DISCOVERY 

HOUSEKEEPING   ON   A   DESERT   ISLAND 

A  TRIP  TO  SANTO  DOMINGO 


W.  E.  CURTIS 

67 

MARIA  LOUISE  WETMORE 

73 

THOMAS  L.  STEDMAN 

77 

W.  E.  CURTIS 

82 

A.  B.  BUCKLEY 

87 

W.  E.  CURTIS 

92 

W.  E.  CURTIS 

97 

.     JOAQUIN  MILLER 

102 

T.  S.  VANDYKE 

no 

H.   BUTTERWORTH 

113 

LADY   BLAKE 

118 

JULIA  WARD  HOWE 

124 

M    <-%«^r'tf^ 


SKETCHES    OF    THE    ORIENT. 


IN    CHINESE   STREETS      . 

DINING   WITH   A   MANDARIN 

COREA   AND   ITS   ARMY 

A  JAPANESE   GARDEN   PARTY. 

THE  JINRIKISHA   OF  JAPAN       . 

A   JAPANESE   HOME 

SIAM   AND    ITS   ROYAL   WHITE   ELEPHANT 

HOUSEKEEPING    IN   EAST   INDIA 

A   MORNING    IN   BENARES 

THE   FIRE -WORSHIPPERS 

SOME   LITTLE    EGYPTIANS 

ORIENTAL  SWEETMEATS 


A.  O.  HUNTINGTON  131 

ALETHE  LOWBER  CRAIG  135 

.       FRANK  G.  CARPENTER  141 

JOSEPH  KING  GOODRICH  147 

.      MARTHA  C.   M.   FISHER  153 

E.  O.  MORSE  156 

SARA  LEE  161 

SARA  JEANNETTE  DUNCAN  166 

HUGH  WILKINSON  173 

S.  G.  W.  BENJAMIN  178 

EDITH  R.  CROSBY  183 

ELEANOR  HODGENS  189 


OLD    OCEAN. 


ABOUT   ICEBERGS 

M.  HARVEY 

195 

THE   GULF   STREAM 

.       J.  E.  PILLSBURY 

201 

THE   KURO  SIWO 

C.  A.  STEPHENS 

207 

THE  TRADE   WINDS 

E.  B.  UNDERWOOD 

210 

THE   MARINERS'    COMPASS 

JAMES  PARTON 

214 

MINOT'S   LEDGE   LIGHT 

EMORY  J.   HAYNES 

220 

BUOYS            

W.  F.  LOW 

225 

THE   PILOT   BOAT 

W.  EUSTIS  BARKER 

231 

AN   OCEAN   GUIDE-POST 

HARRY  PLAIT 

237 

AN   OCEAN   OBSERVATORY 

.       H.  F.  GUNNISON 

244 

THE  U.   S.   LIFE-SAVING  SERVICE     . 

.     WORTH  G.  ROSS 

249 

GLIMPSES    OF    EUROPE. 


LONDON. 


We  travel  from  Liverpool  to  London  in  one  of  the  saloon- 
carriages  which  are  attached  to  all  important  trains,  and  in 
which  all  passengers  holding  first-class  tickets  are  allowed  to 
ride  without  extra  charge. 

In  the  middle  of  the  car  is  a  large  drawing-room,  with 
small  reading  tables  between  the  softly  upholstered  seats,  and 
at  each  end  there  is  a  large  compartment,  one  reserved  exclu- 
sively for  gentlemen  and  the  other  for  ladies.  There  are 
separate  dressing-rooms  of  a  much  larger  size  than  those  in 
the  Pullman  cars,  and  the  fittings  are  of  the  most  ingenious 
description.  Wherever  one  may  be  in  the  car  an  electric  bell 
is  within  reach,  and  a  touch  brings  to  our  side  a  civil  attendant 
politely  asking  what  he  can  do  for  us. 

If  the  passengers  want  luncheon,  they  are  provided  for 
three  shillings  with  a  little  basket  containing  a  napkin,  knife 
and  fork,  condiments,  bread  and  butter,  a  hot  chop,  or  half  a 
cold  chicken. 

In  this  luxurious  fashion,  with  an  ever-changing  landscape 
framed  in  the  window  of  the  car,  we  rush  along,  at  the  rate  of 
fifty  miles  an  hour,  through  the  garden-like  fields  and  past 
the  red-tiled  villages,  the  ivy-mantled  churches  and  the 
ancestral  parks;  it  is  like  Arcadia  and  everything  seems  to 
breathe  of  contentment  and  prosperity. 

Only  two  stops  are  made  between  Liverpool  and  London, 
a  distance  of  two  hundred  and  one  miles,  and  in  four  hours 
and  a  half  we  are  at  the  end  of  our  journey  and  in  London, 
the  most  wonderful  of  cities,  which  becomes  more  and  more 
wonderful  as  one's  knowledge  of  it  increases. 

The  first  thing  we  realize  on  reaching  London  is  noise, 
and  the  second  thing  is  smoke.  The  houses  and  buildings 
are  as  black  as  if  they  were  draped  in  crape,  and  the  air  is  full 
of  floating  particles  of  soot.     We  see  with  dismay  the  new 


summer  hats  that  we  have  brought  from  America  growing 
dingy  and  brown  an  hour  or  two  after  our  arrival,  and  at  the 
end  of  a  daj^  or  two  .our  new  summer  suits  are  spoiled. 

Although  it  is  July,  and  the  weather  is  hot,  all  the  men 
are  dressed  in  black,  and  the  straw  hat  and  light  felt  hat  are 
scarceh'  ever  worn.  Black  is,  indeed,  the  only  suitable  color 
for  clothing,  and  if  the  skin  were  black  also  it  would  be  more 
appropriate  than  white. 

We  have  to  visit  the  wash-bowl  once,  at  least,  in  every 
three  hours  if  we  have  been  out-of-doors,  and  we  stare  aghast 
at  the  water  after  we  have  used  it;  it  is  as  inky  as  if  a 
chimney-sweep  or  a  blacksmith  had  taken  a  bath  in  it.  The 
face  collects  specks  of  the  soot,  and  unless  the  hands  are 
constantly  gloved  they,  too,  become  Ethiopian. 

At  nearly  every  corner  there  is  a  crossing-.sweeper,  some- 
times a  bo}^  or  a  girl,  sometimes  an  old  man  or  a  woman,  who 
lives  by  the  pennies  and  halfpennies  which  the  pedestrians 
drop  as  they  pass.  The  sweeper  touches  his  hat  to  every  one 
who  hurries  by,  but  it  is  seldom  that  he  is  rewarded  by  a  coin. 
One  sweeper  will  occupy  the  same  crossing  from  day  to  day, 
year  in  and  year  out,  and  his  claim  to  it  is  recognized  by  other 
sweepers. 

There  are  many  street  occupations  which  we  never  see  in 
America,  and  the  aim  of  nearl}^  all  of  them  is  the  much-needed 
penny. 

Ragged  street-Arabs  follow  the  omnibuses  and  cabs,  and 
turn  running  somersaults  while  beseeching  the  passengers  to 
give  them  a  penny.  When  the  tide  is  out,  great  banks  of 
black  and  oozy  mud  are  exposed  under  the  bridges  which 
cross  the  Thames,  and  half-naked  boys  wallow  in  the  mire, 
groping  for  the  pennies  which  some  silly  people  throw  for  the 
amusement  of  seeing  the  little  fellows  begrime  themselves. 

The  hansom  cab  is  the  most  comfortable  of  vehicles,  and  it 
is  strange  that  it  has  not  been  adopted  more  widel}^  in  the 
United  States;  its  motion  is  easy,  and  as  the  passenger  sits 
facing  the  horse,  he  has  a  complete  view  of  everything  passing. 
It  is  driven  at  a  high  rate  of  speed,  and  in  twenty  minutes  we 


LONDON.  5 

reach  the  old  tavern  at  Charing  Cross,  at  the  door  of  which 
Mr.  Pickwick  had  his  famous  dispute  with  the  cabman  of  old. 

Other  English  hotels  have  been  modernized  and  Ameri- 
canized, but  this  is  as  old-fashioned  as  ever.  We  do  not 
"register,"  and  we  are  not  greeted  by  any  bejewelled  clerk. 
When  we  enter  the  hall,  we  go  up  to  a  large  window  with 
small  panes,  which  screens  a  very  cozy  sitting-room,  wherein 
we  find  the  landlady  and  her  assistants,  all  of  whom  are 
attractive-looking  young  women,  and  there  a  bedchamber  is 
assigned  to  us. 

Such  a  bedchamber!  The  very  room,  perchance,  in  which 
Mr.  Pickwick  found  himself  with  his  unwelcome  companion; 
for  here  is  a  four-post  bed,  with  heavy  curtains,  and  all  the 
furniture  is  so  dingy  that  its  proper  place  would  be  a  curiosity- 
shop,  or  a  museum  of  antiquities, 

W.    H.    RiDEING. 


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In  Westminster  Abbey, 

I  fear  that  on  entering  the  Abbey  you  will  at  first  be 
greatly  disappointed.  The  grimy,  dingy  look  of  the  place 
will  vex  you,  particularly  if  you  choose  for  your  visit  a  dull 
day.  I  grieve  to  say  that  the  dinginess  is  inevitable.  The 
Abbey  rears  its  towers  into  an  atmosphere  thick  with  the 
smoke  of  innumerable  chimneys,  and  laden  with  acids  which 
eat  away,  with  increasing  rapidity,  the  surface  of  its  stones. 

And  yet,  as  you  enter  the  cathedral  which  enshrines 
memorials  of  nine  centuries  of  English  history  —  as  you  pass 
under  the  roof  which  covers  more  immortal  dust  than  any 
other  in  the  whole  world  —  you  can  hardly  fail  to  feel  some 
sense  of  awe.  And  before  you  begin  to  study  the  cathedral 
in  detail,  I  should  advise  you  to  wander  through  the  length 
and  breadth  of  it  without  paying  any  attention  to  minor 
points  but  with  the  single  object  of  recognizing  its  exquisite 
beauty  and  magnificence. 

You  will  best  understand  its  magnificence  as  a  place  of 
worship  if  you  visit  it  on  any  Sunday  afternoon,  and  see  the 
choir  and  transepts  crowded  from  end  to  end  by  perhaps  three 
thousand  people,  among  whom  5^ou  will  observ^e  hundreds  of 
young  men,  contented  to  stand  through  the  whole  of  a  long 
service  and  to  listen  with  no  sign  of  weariness  to  a  sermon 
which  perhaps  occupies  an  hour  in  the  delivery. 

Here  the  Puritan  divines  thundered  against  the  errors  of 
Rome  ;  here  the  Romish  preachers  anathematized  the  apos- 
tasies of  lyUther.  These  walls  have  heard  the  voice  of 
Cranmer  as  he  preached  before  the  boy-king  on  whom  he 
rested  the  hopes  of  the  Reformation,  and  the  voice  of  Feckenham 
as  he  preached  before  Philip  of  Spain  and  Mary  Tudor.  They 
have  heard  South  shooting  the  envenomed  arrows  of  his  wit 
against  the  Independents,  and  Baxter  pleading  the  cause  of 
toleration.     They  have  heard    Bishop    Bonner   chanting   the 


IN   WESTMINSTER    ABBEY.  7 

mass  in  his  mitre  and  Stephen  Marshall  preaching  at  the 
funeral  of  Pym. 

Here,  too,  you  may  see  at  a  glance  the  unity  of  our 
national  history.  I  use  the  expression,  our  national  history, 
designedly.  The  Abbey  will  remind  us,  as  no  other  place 
could  remind  us,  that  the  histor>'  of  England  is  no  less  the 
history  of  America,  and  the  history  of  America  the  historj^  of 
England.  All  that  was  bitter  in  the  memories  of  the  American 
War  of  Independence  has  long  been  buried  in  the  oblivion  of 
our  common  amity. 

The  actual  traces  which  have  been  left  by  that  struggle 
upon  the  Abbey  walls  are  few.  Gen.  Burgoyne,  "whose 
surrender  at  Saratoga  lost  America  to  England,"  lies  buried, 
not  in  the  Abbe}-,  but  in  the  North  Cloister  without  a  monu- 
ment. A  small  tablet  in  the  southern  aisle  records  the 
shipwreck  and  death  of  William  Wragg  —  who,  as  his  epitaph 
tells  us,  alone  remained  faithful  to  his  country  and  loyal  to 
his  king,  and  was  consequently  obliged  to  escape  from  Carolina. 

The  most  marked  trace  of  the  war  is  to  be  seen  in  the 
monument  of  Major  Andre  ;  and  the  fact  that  in  1812  Andre's 
body  was  sent  back  to  England  by  the  Americans,  with  every 
mark  of  courtesy  and  respect,  shows  how  rapidly  all  traces  of 
exasperation  were  obliterated  between  brother  nations. 

There  are  several  other  objects  which  will  remind  Americans 
of  their  country.  One  is  the  beautiful  window  in  honor  of 
Herbert  and  Cowper  at  the  western  end  of  the  Nave,  in  the 
old  baptistery,  which  was  the  munificent  gift  of  an  American 
citizen.  The  other  is  some  faint  adumbration  of  Boston 
Harbor,  which  may  be  seen  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  Abbe}^ 
the  east  end  of  Henry  the  Seventh's  chapel,  at  the  corner  of 
the  memorial  window  raised  by  the  late  dean  to  the  memor}- 
of  his  wife.  Lady  Augusta  Stanley.  A  third  is  the  tomb  in 
the  Nave  which  was  raised  to  Viscount  Howe  by  the  Province 
of  Massachusetts.  The  genius  of  Massachusetts  is  represented 
weeping  over  the  monument.  Ticonderoga  appears  on  the 
monument  of  Col.  Townsend. 

Even  in  walking  through  the  Abbey  to  learn  its  general 


IN    WESTMINSTER   ABBEY.  9 

aspect,  you  will  be  struck  by  the  bewildering  multiplicity  of 
tombs.  There  is  not  a  Valhalla  in  the  world  in  which  repose 
so  many  of  the  great  and  good.  It  is  this  which  has  made 
the  deepest  impression  on  multitudes  of  visitors. 

There,  over  the  western  door,  with  his  arm  outstretched 
and  his  haughty  head  thrown  back,  as  though  in  loud  and 
sonorous  utterance  he  were  still  pouring  forth  to  the  Parlia- 
ment of  England  the  language  of  indomitable  courage  and 
inflexible  resolve,  stands  William  Pitt.  History  is  recording 
his  words  of  eloquence  ;  Anarchy  sits  like  a  chained  giant,  at 
his  feet.  And  within  a  few  yards  of  this  fine  monument  is 
the  no  less  interesting  memorial  of  Charles  James  Fox  ;  of 
Fox,  who  opposed  Pitt's  public  funeral ;  of  Fox,  whom  he 
once  charged  with  using  the  language  of  a  man  ' '  mad  with 
desperation  and  disappointment." 

The  most  noticeable  tombs  in  the  Nave  (and  to  the  Nave 
alone  we  must  at  present  confine  our  attention)  may  be  classed 
together  under  different  heads. 

There  are  the  monuments  to  great  statesmen  ;  to  the  naval 
commanders ;  to  former  Deans  of  Westminster,  and  to  the 
great  Indian  heroes.  It  is  singular  how  exceedingly  bad 
many  of  the  epitaphs  are,  and  how  as  we  approach  the 
eighteenth  century  they  grow  more  and  more  verbose  and 
futile  in  exact  proportion  as  the  sentiments  expressed  by  the 
statuary  grow  more  and  more  irreligious  and  fantastic. 

The  inscription  on  the  grave  of  Clyde  briefly  records  his 
"fifty  years  of  arduous  servnce."  On  Outram's  monume>nt  is 
a  bas-relief  of  the  memorable  scene  in  which  he  met  Havelock 
at  Delhi,  and  resigning  to  him  the  command,  nobly  served  as 
a  volunteer  beneath  his  military  inferior.  On  Pollock's  grave 
is  the  appropriate  text,  "  O  God,  Thou  strength  of  my  health. 
Thou  hast  covered  my  head  in  the  day  of  battle."  Under  the 
bust  of  Lawrence  are  canned  the  striking  words,  "  He  feared 
man  so  little,  because  he  feared  God  so  much." 

There  is,  close  by,  the  bust  of  Zachary  Macaulay,  the  father 
of  Lord  Macaulay  and  the  great  opponent  of  the  slave-trade. 
The    inscription  —  written   by    Sir    James    Stephen  —  is   well 


lO  IN  WESTMINSTER   ABBEY. 

worth  reading  for  the  beautj^  and  eloquence  of  the  language. 
There  is  the  grave  of  John  Hunter,  the  great  anatomist. 
Close  by  this  is  the  simple  rectangular  slab  under  which  Ben 
Jonson  was  buried  upright,  having  asked  Charles  I.  for 
eighteen  square  inches  of  ground  in  Westminster  Abbey.  On 
this  stone  was  carved  the  quaint  and  striking  epitaph,  "O 
rare  Ben  Jonson,"  which,  onlj^  the  accidental  expression  of  a 
passer-by,  was  afterwards  copied  upon  his  bust  in  "Poet's 
Corner." 

Near  the  centre  of  the  Nave  a  slab  records  that  the  grave 
beneath  was  the  resting-place,  for  some  months,  of  the  body 
of  George  Peabody  ;  and  on  this  slab  are  car\^ed  the  words  of 
his  early  prayer,  that  if  God  prospered  him,  He  would  enable 
him  to  render  some  memorial  service  to  his  fellow-men. 

A  little  farther  on  is  the  grave  of  lyivingstone,  which  records 
the  last  pathetic  words  found  in  his  diary  :  "  All  I  can  add  in 
my  loneliness  is,  May  Heaven's  rich  blessing  come  down  on 
every  one,  American,  English  or  Turk,  who  will  help  to  heal 
this  open  sore  of  the  world  "  — the  slave-trade. 

There  are,  however,  two  monuments  to  which  I  must  lead 
you  before  I  conclude.  One  is  the  monument  to  Sir  Isaac 
Newton,  close  beside  whose  grave  were  laid  the  mortal 
remains  of  Charles  Darwin. 

The  tomb  of  Newton  is  well  worth  your  notice  from  its 
intrinsic  beauty,  as  well  as  from  the  fact  that  it  is  placed 
above  the  last  resting-place  of  one  of  the  greatest  of  English- 
men* The  monument  is  by  Rysbraeck.  Over  it  is  a  celestial 
globe  on  which  is  marked  the  course  of  the  comet  of  1680. 
Leaning  on  this  is  the  figure  of  Astronomy,  who  has  closed 
her  book  as  though,  for  the  time,  her  labors  were  over. 

The  very  ingenious  bas-relief  below  expresses  in  allegory 
the  various  spheres  of  Newton's  labors.  At  the  right  three 
lovely  little  genii  are  minting  money,  to  indicate  Newton's 
services  to  the  currency  ;  near  them,  a  boy  looking  through  a 
prism  symbolizes  the  discoveries  of  Newton  respecting  the 
laws  of  light;  a  fifth — who  (like  other  geniuses)  has  at 
present  unhappily  lost  his  head  —  is  weighing  the  sun  on  a 


IN  WESTMINSTER   ABBEY.  II 

steelyard  against  Mercury,  Mars,  Venus,  the  Earth,  Jupiter 
and  Saturn,  which  very  strikingly  shadows  forth  the  discovery 
of  the  laws  of  gravitation  ;  at  the  extreme  left,  two  other  genii 
reverently  tend  an  aloe,  the  emblem  of  immortal  fame.  Over 
the  bas-relief  reclines  the  fine  statue  of  the  great  discoverer, 
whose  elbow  leans  on  four  volumes  of  Divinity,  Optics  and 
Astronomy  and  Mathematics. 

There  is  one  more  monument  in  the  Nave  at  which 
Americans  will  look  with  special  interest.  It  is  the  tomb  of 
the  gallant  and  ill-fated  Andre.  Every  American  knows  how 
he  was  arrested  in  disguise  wathin  the  American  lines  in  1780, 
and  for  a  moment  lost  his  presence  of  mind  and  neglected  to 
produce  the  safe-conduct  of  the  traitor  Benedict  Arnold.  He 
was  sentenced  to  be  hung  as  a  spy,  and  in  spite  of  the  deep 
sympathy  which  his  fate  excited,  even  among  the  Americans, 
Washington  did  not  think  himself  justified  in  relaxing  the 
sentence. 

The  touching  bas-relief  represents  on  one  side  a  British 
officer,  who  is  carrying  a  flag  of  truce  and  a  letter  to  the  tent 
of  General  Washington,  wdth  the  entreaty  of  Andre  that,  as  a 
soldier,  he  might  be  shot  and  not  hung.  One  of  the  American 
officers  is  weeping. 

The  request  was  refused,  but  as  it  w^ould  have  been  too 
painful  to  represent  Andre's  death  on  the  gibbet,  the  sculptor 
has  represented  his  youthful  and  handsome  figure  standing  at 
the  right  of  the  bas-relief  before  a  platoon  of  soldiers,  as 
though  his  petition  had  in  reality  been  granted.  The  sculptor 
Van  Gelder  has  been  very  successful,  but  the  heads  of 
Washington  and  Andre  have  several  times  been  knocked  off 
and  stolen  by  base  and  sacrilegious  hands. 

The  American  visitor  wall  gaze  on  the  tomb  wntli  still 
deeper  interest  when  he  is  told  that  the  wreath  of  richly- 
colored  autumn  leaves  on  the  marble  above  w^as  brought  from 
the  site  where  Andre's  gibbet  stood,  and  placed  where  it  now 
is  by  the  hands  of  Arthur  Stanley,  late  Dean  of  Westminster. 

Archdeacon  Farrar. 


Scenes   in   Holland. 


A  country  protected  by  dikes  from  the  placid-looking  but 
hungry  sea,  diversified  with  windmills,  peopled  by  a  thrifty 
and  well-contented  race,  and  soaked,  as  it  seems  to  the 
observer,  by  an  atmosphere  bringing  about  such  tones  and 

effects  as  artists  love  ; 
this  is  Holland. 

Perhaps  among  all 
its  attractions  the 
windmills  are  most  va- 
ried, and  appeal  most 
strongl}'  to  the  eye. 
One  never  tires  of 
watching  them  ;  there 
are  as  many  varieties 
as  there  are  of  flies 
in  our  own  country, 
though  they  never 
make  themselves  too 
prominent  in  the  land- 
scape, as  flies  so  often 
do.  One,  like  that  in 
the  sketch,  which  has 
lost  one  of  its  sails, 
always  reminds  me  of 
a  goose  with  a  broken 
wing.  Most  of  them 
are  painted  with  the  brightest  of  known  tints,  which  are 
nevertheless  toned  into  a  delicious  harmony  by  the  blue-gray 
of  the  atmosphere,  and  all  seem  to  embody  the  very  spirit  of 
thrift  and  industry,  with  their  wildly  whirling  sails. 

The  traveller  gifted  with  an  artistic  eye,  in  noting  how 
they  fit  the  landscape,  may  not  at  first  realize  their  vast  utility. 


SCENES   IN    HOLLAND. 


13 


but  he  soon  learns  that  they  are  the  gigantic  servitors  of  the 
country,  and  are  used,  not  only  in  draining  the  land,  but  for 
various  lesser  operations,  such  as  crushing  grain  or  sawing 
logs.  Their  number  on  any  farm  accurately  indicates  the 
owner's  wealth,  and  the  bride  is  well  satisfied  who  goes  to  her 
new  home  with  a  dowry  of  several  windmills. 

The  head-gear  of  the  women  is 
usually  most  elaborate  and  striking. 
Almost  all  of  them  wear  caps,  some- 
times plain,  and  often  diversified  like 
that  in  the  sketch,  which  is  trimmed 
with  lace  and  ornamented  by  gold  pins 
at  the  sides.  The  quality  of  the  lace 
and    the   richness  of   the   pins  furnish 

conclusive  evidence  of  the  class  and  wealth  of  the  wearer.  A 
very  effective  head-dress  is  one  common  in  Friesland,  consisting 
of  a  helmet  of  gold,  silver,  or  some  other  burnished  metal, 
which  is  covered  with  lace,  often  of  a  very  precious  quality. 

Secured  to  the  sides  of 
the  metal  cap  or  "hoof- 
dyzer "  (head-iron), 
on  a  line  with  the  eyes, 
are  spiral  ornaments 
of  gold,  or  pendants 
set  with  jewels. 

A  lady  thus  be- 
decked presents  a  gor- 
geous appearance,  not 
even  to  be  exceeded 
by  that  of  royalty,  in 
its  every  -  day  dress. 
Still,  the  plain  white 
linen  cap  is  most  com- 
mon among  the  peas- 
antry and  very  becom- 
ing to  the  broad,  chub- 
by faces  of  children. 


14 


SCENES   IN    HOLLAND. 


The  cleanliness  of  Holland  deserves  to  pass  into  a  score  of 
proverbs.      In  some  of   the  larger  towns,  where  the  houses 

front  directly  upon  the 
street,  without  a  vestige 
of  5  ard,  the  morning  is 
the  time  adopted  for  a 
general  scrubbing.  The 
earh  riser  is  liable  to 
stumble  over  house- 
maids on  their  knees, 
or  to  be  splashed  by  the 
pails  of  water,  which 
the}  are  dashing  against 
walls  and  windows. 

Often,  too,  girls  may 


be  seen  kneel- 
ing, and  loot- 
ing out  grass 
from  1  he  chinks 
of  a  pavement, 
where  it  has 
tried  to  assert 
its  unwelcome 
existence 

There  are 
few  hedges  or 

fences  in  Holland,  but  rush-bordered  ditches  separate  different 
plots  of  ground,  and  everywhere,  in  the  frequent  streamlets, 


SCENES   IN    HOLLAND.  15 

are  reflected  the  windmills,  in  long,  wavering  lines,  under  the 
wonderful  sunset  light. 

A  little  earlier  in  the  day  may  be  seen  the  milkmaid  going 
home  with  two  brass  cans  suspended  on  her  shoulders,  and 
adding  vastly  to  the  diversified  beauty  of  the  landscape.  The 
farmer,  also,  takes  his  homeward  way,  smoking  his  pipe,  held 
sidewise  or  upside  down,  according  to  the  queer  Dutch  fashion. 

Storks  are  flying  at  all  hours  across  the  country,  their  long 
wings  loosely  flapping,  and  their  slender  legs  hanging  down, 
as  if  broken.  They  are  very  much  like  the  decorative 
Japanese  stork,  except  that  they  are  more  liveh%  and  the 
Dutch  regard  them  with  a  consideration  which  amounts 
almost  to  reverence.  Often  the  birds  build  their  nests  on  the 
chimnej'S,  but  here  and  there  are  to  be  seen  long  poles  stuck 
into  the  ground,  and  bearing  at  the  top  a  sort  of  basket,  in 
which  the  stork  may  rest  in  securit3^ 

These  birds  are  of  great  benefit  to  the  country  for  the 
reason  that,  although  they  are  eaters  of  fish,  the}^  also  devour 
large  numbers  of  reptiles  and  insects.  When  one  settles  upon 
a  house,  it  is  regarded  as  such  a  good  omen  that  the  most 
skeptical  person  would  never  dream  of  driving  it  away,  and 
there  is  still  in  existence  a  law  imposing  a  fine  upon  any  one 
who  shall  kill  a  stork. 

Aleph  Page. 


Work  and  Play  in  Belgium. 

Belgium  is  a  small,  but  a  thrifty  and  beautiful  country, 
and  the  Belgians  are  very  proud  of  it.  Their  interests  are  all 
centered  in  it;  and  although  many  foreigners  make  their  home 
here,  the  Belgians  proper  keep  more  to  themselves,  and  do 
not  make  it  easy  for  the  foreigners  to  become  acquainted 
with  them. 

The  Belgians  proper  are  chiefly  composed  of  two  races, 
the  Flemish,  who  are  originally  of  Germanic  descent,  and  the 
Walloons,  descendants  of  the  Gauls.  They  have  each  a 
language  of  their  own,  in  which  they  vSpeak  to  their  family 
and  friends;  but  they  also  speak  and  understand  French, 
which  is  the  language  of  the  country.  In  almost  everything 
ofi&cial  French  only  is  used. 

The  public  schools  are  free,  and  children  are  sent  to  them 
very  young.  They  have  to  obey  strict  rules,  and  are  dutiful 
to  their  teachers. 

They  learn  first  and  foremost  all  about  their  own  country, 
drawing  maps  of  great  detail  of  the  different  parts  of  it  so  as 
to  get  thoroughly  familiar  with  its  geography.  They  learn 
the  history'  of  Belgium  thoroughly,  and  an  interesting  study  it 
is — not  to  them  alone,  but  to  everybody,  because  the  Belgian 
provinces  have  been  the  object  of  many  wars,  belonging  at 
different  times  to  France,  Holland,  Spain  and  Austria. 

Belgium's  central  position  made  it  the  theatre  of  war  of 
many  nations;  and  stormy  and  full  of  changes  has  been  its 
fate.  All  that  is  interesting  to  the  student;  and  the  Belgian 
children  love  to  learn  all  about  the  past  of  their  country. 
Happy  the  people  are  that  now  they  belong  to  themselves, 
and  have  their  own  good,  wise  king  ! 

Everything  pertaining  to  their  own  country  is  carefully 
taught,  but  what  lies  beyond  does  not  interest  them  much. 
The  rest  of  the  world   is  nothing  to  them,   and  they  know 


WORK    AND    PLAY    IN    BELGIUM.  1 7 

little  about  it.  Once  a  year  prizes  are  distributed  in  schools 
for  the  best  worker — the  one  who  has  tried  hardest  to  do  well. 
On  that  day  you  see  the  children  dressed  in  their  best  on  their 
way  to  school.  Many  carry  or  wear  flowers;  all  are  eager  to 
obtain  the  prize. 

The  deserving  ones  return  home,  proudl}'  carrying  their 
prizes,  consisting  mostly  of  choice  books;  they  are  decked 
with  flowers  or  gay  ribbons  given  bj'  their  schoolmates,  who 
surround  them  admiringly,  happy  in  their  success. 

Thursday  afternoon  is  always  a  half-holiday,  on  which 
comrades  gather  to  spend  a  happj'  time  together  in  the  woods 
if  it  is  summer,  or  skating  or  making  snow-statuary  in  the 
winter. 

On  a  fine  day  j'^ou  can  see  class  after  class  of  merry 
children  clattering  along  two  by  two  in  their  "sabots" 
(wooden  shoes),  led  by  a  teacher  to  some  park  or  playground 
to  play  and  romp  for  an  hour  or  so.  The  teacher  either  joins 
in  the  games,  or  at  any  rate  stays  to  watch  that  no  harm  is 
done,  and  on  a  signal  the  children  obedientl}'  gather  together, 
group  themselves  as  they  came  and  return  to  school. 

lyittle  girls  have  always  to  wear  black  pinafores  at  school 
to  keep  their  dresses  from  getting  bespattered  with  ink,  and 
to  make  them,  while  at  school,  look  all  alike.  It  is  a  kind  of 
uniform  that  all  wear,  so  that  none  shall  outshine  the  others 
by  finer  dresses,  and  also  to  prevent  their  thoughts  from 
wandering  from  their  lessons  to  each  other's  clothes.  For 
the  same  reason,  perhaps,  the  black  dress  is  chosen  for 
universal  wear  ior  young  ladies  in  some  boarding-schools. 

On  special  fete  days  of  a  national  character,  as  for  instance 
on  the  twenty-fifth  anniversary  of  the  accession  of  King 
Leopold  II.  to  the  throne,  one  feature  of  the  celebration  is  a 
procession  of  school  children,  marching  past  the  king  and 
queen. 

Delegations  of  children  are  sent  from  schools  all  over  the 
country.  They  join  the  Brussels  children,  having  drilled  for 
weeks  beforehand,  so  that  on  the  appointed  day  thousands 
upon  thousands  of  them  march  in  beautiful  order  like  soldiers, 


i8 


WORK   AND    P1,AY   IX    BELGIUM. 


singing  beautiful  songs,  past  the  king  and  queen,  who  are 
stationed  on  some  balcony  of  their  palace,  and  who  smile  and 
nod  to  the  children  as  they  march  past. 

Sunday  is  the  great  day  for  amusement   here  as  in   all 


European  countries.  The  streets,  parks  and  woods  are 
crowded  on  that  day.  All  have  been  busy  during  the  week  ; 
so  on  Sunday,  after  having  attended  church,  which  they  do 
regularly,  the  whole  family  turns  out,  often  taking  their  food 


WORK    AND    PLAY    IN    BELGIUM.  I9 

with  them  to  the  woods  and  spending  the  remainder  of  the 
day  in  the  open  air. 

The  summer-time  is  perhaps  the  happiest  time  for  children 
as  well  as  for  the  grown  folks,  because  it  brings  the  ' '  kermess, ' ' 
a  kind  of  Flemish  fair  which  is  held  at  different  times  all  over 
the  country. 

On  some  open  place  in  city  or  village  quite  a  little  town  of 
booths  and  tents  is  erected.  There  you  find  merry-go-rounds, 
Russian  slides,  roller-coasts,  menageries,  wonderful  exhi- 
bitions of  all  sorts  of  curious  things  and  animals  ;  fat  people, 
dwarfs  and  shooting-galleries.  All  have  pitched  their  tents 
in  some  convenient  spot. 

The  crowd  of  eager  people  is  immense  every  day  ;  and 
many  save  up  all  their  spare  money  for  a  whole  year  in  order 
to  spend  it  at  the  kermess.  They  enjoy  themselves  far  better 
there  than  at  a  more  costly  entertainment ;  in  fact,  the  great 
success  of  the  fair  is  due  to  the  low  price  asked  for  the  different 
shows.  It  is  indeed  a  true  people's  festival,  and  it  is  pleasant 
to  see  their  thorough  enjoyment. 

The  noise  at  the  fair  is  terrible.  Each  merry-go-round 
has  its  big  hand-organ  of  the  size  of  an  upright  piano,  playing 
as  loud  as  a  brass  band.  There  may  be  six  of  these  in  a 
comparatively  small  space. 

The  reports  of  the  guns  at  the  shooting-galleries  ;  the  loud 
voices  of  the  owners  of  shows  and  museums  inviting  the 
passer-by  to  see  the  contents  of  their  booths  ;  the  clowns  in 
front  of  the  circus  ;  the  laughing  and  shouting  of  the  throng, 
all  that  combined  makes  an  ordinary  tone  of  conversation 
impossible. 

Everybody  has  to  scream  to  make  himself  understood  ;  and 
when  the  throat  gets  too  dry,  why,  there  are  innumerable 
tents  where  refreshments  pi  all  kinds  are  served.  For  the 
children  the  stalls  filled  with  candies  of  all  colors  of  the 
rainbow,  and  gingerbread  are  not  the  least  attractive  ones. 

With  such  simple,  childlike  amusements  young  and  old 
are  satisfied.  The  father  goes  with  his  family  to  join  in  the 
pleasure.      He    may   not    have  the   restless   activity   of   the 


20  WORK    AND    PLAY    IN    BELGIUM. 

American,  but  he  will  allow  himself  time  to  enjoy  life  with 
his  wife  and  children  as  he  goes  along,  and  rests  contented 
with  a  simple  lot. 

One  thing  that  would  strike  strangers  on  coming  here 
would  be  to  see  the  children  beg  in  the  streets.  Some  are 
sent  begging  by  parents  who  are  too  lazy  to  work,  and  in 
such  cases  a  regular  business  is  made  of  it. 

But  there  are  others  who  beg  even  when  they  do  not  need 
alms.  They  will  run  beside  j'our  carriage  or  trot  along  by 
your  side,  asking  in  a  woebegone  voice  for  "charite  !  un  petit 
sou"  (charity!  a  little  penny).  If  you  pay  no  attention  to 
them  they  will,  after  awhile,  stay  behind,  change  manner  and 
tone  completely,  perhaps  make  a  face  at  you,  and  go  on 
laughingly  with  their  games. 

If  you  let  your  heart  be  touched — which  j^ou  are  sorely 
tempted  to  do  by  their  heartrending  voice  and  entreaty,  and 
their  dirty,  ragged  and  hungry  look  —  they  will  as  likely  as 
not  take  the  money  you  gave  them  to  the  nearest  candy  store 
and  spend  it  in  sweets,  or  buy  a  cigarette  and  make  themselves 
sick  with  it. 

Politeness  is  one  of  the  pleasing  features  of  children  in 
Belgium.  They  are  taught  from  earliest  childhood  to  be 
polite,  and  they  never  forget  it.  Wherever  you  go,  everj^body 
is  well-mannered  and  obliging.  In  stores  one  alwaj^s  receives 
most  polite  thanks  and  earnest  entreaty  to  come  again,  even  if 
one  has  not  bought  a  thing. 

On  the  roads  in  the  country  the  peasants  alwaj's  wish  you 
good  day,  and  the  men  take  off  their  hats.  When  a  funeral 
passes  on  the  street,  every  man  and  boy  takes  off  his  hat ; 
this  is  called  "  salut  a  la  mort  "  (salute  to  the  dead),  and  is  a 
beautiful  custom.  A  troop  of  soldiers  would  always  halt  till 
the  funeral  procession  has  passed,  and  never  cross  it,  as  indeed 
no  one  would  do. 

Children  have  to  make  themselves  useful,  too.  After 
school  hours  they  have  to  help  in  the  business,  or  tend  and 
care  for  the  younger  children,  or  work  in  the  fields.  Fre- 
quently you  see  them  take  the  produce  of  the  farm  to  the  city 


WORK    AND    PLAY   IN    BKLGIUM.  21 

in  little  green  carts  drawn  by  dogs.  Dog-carts  are  used  a 
great  deal,  but  the  dogs  are  splendid  big  creatures,  and  well 
treated.  In  such  carts  the  milk  is  brought  mornings  to  the 
house  in  shining  brass  cans  set  in  straw  in  the  little  cart, 
which  is  painted  bright  green  and  attended  by  a  girl  in  a  clean 
dress,  blue  apron  and  wooden  shoes,  with  nothing  on  her 
head,  winter  or  summer. 

The  dog  is  hitched  to  this  cart  like  a  horse,  with  a  pretty 
little  harness  studded  with  brass  nails.  In  some  cases  the 
dog  is  placed  underneath  the  cart,  and  the  girl  pushes  from 
behind. 

I  should  like  to  tell  you  a  great  deal  more  about  this 
country,  but  that  would  overstep  the  limits  of  my  letter. 
What  I  have  told  you  will  have  given  you  some  little  idea  of 
the  people  and  customs  of  Belgium,  and  of  the  children  here. 

E.  H.  TerreIvL. 


Boys  and  Girls  of  Paris, 


Although  America  is  of  all  countries  the  one  in  which  the 
rights  of  childhood  are  most  regarded,  it  is  not  by  any  means 
the  foremost  in  provision  for  its  comfort  or  enjoyment. 

In  this  respect  we  might  well  take  a  lesson  from  the  city 
of  Paris.  The  w^onderful  pleasure-grounds  which  are  to  be 
met  at  every  turn  are  open  to  the  children  unreserv^edly. 

From  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  with  its  hundreds  of  acres  of 
hill  and  valley,  and  the  gardens  of  the  Tuileries,  bright  with 
statues  and  flowers  and  fountains,  to  the  small  squares  and 
places,  or  even  to  the  peaceful  old  churchyards  with  their 
quiet  paths  and  green  arbors,  there  is  no  spot  where  the  happy 
little  creatures  do  not  find  room  for  outdoor  diversion. 

You  will  find  them  making  sand  pies, — the  streets  of  Paris 
are  too  clean  to  provide  mud, — whipping  their  gaily  painted 
tops,  pegging  away  at  marbles  with  shrill  French  enthusiasm, 
playing  soldier,  or  cache-cache  or  prisoner's  base,  or  "I-spy," 
eager  and  almost  as  swift  as  birds,  and  to  all  appearance 
much  less  given  to  quarrelling. 

Perhaps  the  universal  courtesy  with  which  they  are  treated, 
may  be  the  cause  of  the  courtesy  they  in  turn  show  to  their 
companions  and  elders  ;  but  whatever  the  reason,  it  is  certainly 
a  most  charming  trait  in  their  behavior. 

To  see  a  French  boy,  hat  in  hand,  answering  or  asking  a 
question,  or  a  French  girl,  standing  with  kindly  deference 
until  her  mother  or  her  mother's  friend  is  seated,  is  to  see  a 
very  pleasant  sight  indeed. 

But  it  is  not  alone  in  playgrounds  that  the  beautiful  cit)^ 
takes  care  of  its  children.  There  are  the  ever  fascinating 
Gingerbread  Fairs.  You  come  suddenly,  at  some  street  corner 
where  there  is  an  open  space,  upon  a  village  of  tents,  with 
merry-go-rounds,  swings.  Punch  and  Judy  shows,  and  all 
manner  of  devices  pleasing  to  children.      There  are  captive 


BOYS   AND   GIRLS   OF   PARIS.  23 

balloons  in  which  you  can  soar  above  the  house-tops,  and 
toboggan  slides  which  dip  frantically,  as  if  into  the  bowels  of 
the  earth ;  and  clowns,  jugglers  and  acrobats,  and  streets 
upon  streets  of  toys,  and  candy  and  gingerbread! 

Gingerbread  everywhere  ;  walls  of  it,  chunks  of  it,  bricks 
of  it;  in  slices,  in  blocks,  in  shapes  of  men  and  elephants, 
ships  and  houses  ;  ornamented  with  gold  and  silver,  glistening 
with  frosting,  covered  with  a  mail  of   parti-colored    comfits, 

packed    full    of     plums, 
bristling  with  nuts  spark- 
ling  with  tinsel,  fashioned 
t^  1'^^  into   every   device  which 

i  \y^^^  "^  ceive. 

^    ^    \K        —  __  And    oh,     so    cheap  ! 

S\         ~  The  poorest  small  pocket 

■~  holds  sous  enough  for  a 

treat. 
_  Then     there     is     the 

'^T^'^^  ^*'^"''  Garden    of     Plants,    the 

great  botanical  and  zoo- 
logical nursery  of  the 
nation,  with  its  long  lanes  flanked  by  pretty  houses,  some 
large  as  barracks,  for  the  monkeys  or  the  gracefull}^  awkward 
camelopards,  some  tiny  enough  for  the  smallest  forms  of 
animal  life. 

There  are  conserv^atories  filled  with  rarest  butterfly-like 
orchids,  and  tall  tropical  palms;  whole  buildings  devoted  to 
aquariums,  and  rare,  strange  nooks,  where  the  trees  are  cut 
into  grotesque  forms,  as  if  one  had  straj^ed  into  some  goblin 
country. 

In  the  centre  is  a  great  oval  ampitheatre  without  a  roof 
where,  every  fine  day,  a  perpetual  circus  goes  on  ;  and  where, 
for  a  sou  or  two,  a  good  boy  or  girl  may  ride  upon  any 
creature,  from  an  elephant  to  a  goat  not  much  larger  than  a 
good-sized  cat. 

There  are  brilliant  houdahs,  in  which  a  dozen  can  sit  at 


24  BOYS   AND    GIRLS   OF    PARIS. 

once,  regally  borne  by  some  gigantic  Jumbo;  there  are  queer 
little  saddles  fastened  on  the  hump  of  a  camel,  or  a  dromedar}^ 
or  an  ostrich  ;  there  are  cushions  across  the  back  of  a  deer, 
or  a  zebra,  or  a  Shetland  ponj^  or  some  strange  creature  that 
looks  as  if  it  had  wandered  out  of  the  Arabian  Nights. 

There  are  bands  playing  with  fine  flourish  of  drums  and 
cymbals;  there  are  travelling  musicians  with  every  variety  of 
noise,  from  a  hurdy-gurdy  to  a  calliope  whistle  ;  and  the  air 
is  full  of  flower  fragrance  and  the  joyous  tumult  of  children's 
voices.     What  could  be  more  like  Paradise  ? 

Here  and  there  you  will  stumble,  in  some  of  the  narrow 
streets  of  the  old  city  or  the  broad  boulevards  of  the  new, 
upon  a  magic  gateway,  where  3'ou  drop  five  cents  into  a  lion's 
mouth.  He  swallows  it  without  winking.  Then  you  knock 
at  a  low  door,  and  presto !  you  are  in  Fairyland.  Real 
Fairyland  this  time,  if  there  ever  was  such  a  thing  ! 

There  is  the  palace  of  the  Sleeping  Beauty,  with  her 
scullions  and  courtiers  and  maids  of  honor  dreaming  away  in 
the  gardens  and  halls,  while  she  herself  lies  with  sweet,  closed 
eyes  on  the  silken  coverlet  of  her  pretty  bower.  Only  you 
are  not  allowed  to  kiss  her  awake. 

There  are  talking  birds  and  singing  pigs,  and  strange 
enchantments  all  about  you.  There  is  an  elephant  with  a 
staircase  in  his  left  hind-leg,  and  a  suite  of  rooms  in  his 
monstrous  body,  and  a  supper-hall  in  his  big  forehead,  whence 
you  can  look  out  on  the  world  from  his  twinkling  eyes. 

If  you  turn  to  the  right,  you  will  meet  little  Red  Riding 
Hood  with  the  Wolf  talking  to  her  in  very  good  French,  and  the 
old  Grandmother  being  gobbled  up  before  your  very  eyes,  if 
you  wait  long  enough.  If  you  turn  to  the  left,  there  is  Jack 
the  Giant  Killer  slaying  his  fearful  Goliaths  ;  or  Hop  o'  My 
Thumb  piloting  his  train  of  brothers  through  the  woods  ;  or 
the  fatal  castle  of  Blue  Beard,  with  Sister  Anna  looking  from 
the  battlements  ;  or  some  other  dear  old  friend  of  childhood 
the  world  over. 

Then  there  are  dwarfs  and  fairies  running  about  every- 
where with  cakes,  ices,  and  strawberries  and  cream.      You 


BOYS    AND    GIRLS   OF    PARIS. 


25 


have  only  to  sit  down  at  any  one  of  the  small  tables  amid  the 
flowers  to  be  sure  of  that. 

By  and  by,  as  you  wander  through  the  shady  lanes,  not 


quite  certain  yet  whether  3'ou  are  sleeping  or  waking,  you  see 
a  tempting  small  door  leading  into  a  magic  tower, — and  lo  ! 
you  are  out  in  the  work-a-day  world  again,  with  the  portals 


26  BOYS   AND    GIRLS   OF   PARIS. 

of  Fairyland  closed  behind  you,  and  only  a  blank  wall  on  a 
busy  street  to  show  where  it  had  been. 

The  simple  way  in  which  the  children  are  dressed  cannot 
help  being  an  attraction  to  other  healthy  little  people.  No 
frills  or  furbelows,  or  stiff  cuffs  and  collars,  to  make  one  afraid 
of  soiling  or  spoiling ;  but  the  plainest  short  gowns  and 
trousers,  with  stout  boots  and  thick  stockings  ;  and  almost 
invariably  a  big,  dark  blue  cotton  or  woollen  blouse,  belted  at 
the  waist,  with  famous  pockets  which  will  bear  any  kind  of 
rough  usage. 

This  is  the  way  j'ou  will  see  tall  boys  and  girls  returning 
from  school,  little  boys  and  girls  at  play  with  nurses  and 
mothers,  even  young  men  and  women  in  the  normal  schools 
and  institutes.  It  is  such  an  easy-going,  comfortable,  happy- 
go-lucky  sort  of  costume  that  it  seems  the  finest  thing 
imaginable  for  comfort  and  for  fun. 

One  example  which  the  people  of  Paris  set  to  the  rest  of 
the  world  is  the  habit  of  enjoying  everything  together.  Rich 
or  poor,  you  see  the  entire  family  in  companj-.  On  Sundays 
and  holidays  they  go  into  the  parks,  the  woods,  the  streets, 
out  upon  the  ga}'  boulevards  or  the  quiet  country  places,  in 
the  myriad  small  steamboats  that  glide  like  water-flies  up  and 
down  the  Seine,  to  the  forests  of  Fontainebleau  or  the  Gardens 
of  the  IvUxembourg  or  Tuileries,  but  all  together. 

The  big  brothers  and  sisters,  the  little  brothers  and  sisters, 
the  father  and  mother,  the  baby,  even  the  old,  old  people, 
smile  and  chat  and  sit  in  the  grass,  and  eat  their  homely 
lunch  in  such  happy  and  hearty  fashion  that  it  is  a  joy  to 
watch  them. 

Perhaps  of  all  the  reasons  which  could  be  gathered  together, 
there  is  none  stronger  than  this  happy,  healthy  union  of 
family  interests  and  amusements,  to  prove  that  Paris  may 
well  be  called  the  Paradise  of  Children. 

M.  E.  Blake. 


Toledo   and   Cordova. 

Imperial  Toledo  —  Toledo  of  the  Romans,  of  the  Goths,  of 
the  Moors,  of  the  Christians  !  We  were  full  of  enthusiasm  as 
we  started  from  Madrid  in  the  early  —  too  early  —  morning 
to  find  it. 

The  train  seemed  nearly  empty.  We  could  almost  fancy 
it  crawled  on  for  our  sakes  only  ;  but  crawl  it  did.  I  suppose 
that  even  a  snail  gets  somewhere  at  last,  and  at  last  we  came 
in  sight  of  Toledo,  towering  up  from  the  3'ellow  Tagus, 
3'ellower  even  than  the  Tiber  at  Rome. 

The  Tagus  girdles  the  town,  leaving  only  one  landward 
approach,  which  is  fortified  by  Moorish  towers  and  walls. 

Ivike  Rome,  Toledo  stands  upon  seven  hills,  and  like  Rome, 
everything  about  it  is  venerable.  No  mushroom  place  this, 
built  in  hot  haste,  as  solace  for  a  monarch's  gout.  All  here  is 
substantial  and  ancient. 

For  three  hundred  and  fifty  years  the  Moors  held  sway  in 
Toledo,  and  you  see  Moorish  remains  at  every  step.  It  was 
the  Moors  who  built  the  noble  gates,  of  which  the  finest  is 
the  Puerta  del  Sol,  in  the  picture  of  which  you  will  note 
the  horseshoe-shaped  arches  which  distinguish  Moorish 
architecture. 

Externally,  nothing  could  be  more  imposing  than  Toledo, 
but  when  fairly  into  it,  one  realizes  that  all  is  desolate,  for- 
saken, going  to  decay.  It  once  had  two  hundred  thousand 
inhabitants  ;  it  has  twenty  thousand  now. 

But  how  fascinating  it  is,  even  now  !  The  narrow,  ill}-- 
paved  streets  wind  up  and  down  and  in  and  out,  and  lead  you 
from  wonder  to  wonder  of  interest  and  of  beauty. 

The  car\'ing  of  the  stalls  in  the  cathedral  choir  is  so 
beautiful  that  I  should  like  to  stud}^  it  every  day  for  a  year, 
and  the  stained  glass  windows  are  among  the  finest  in  the 
world.     They  sparkle  as  with  jewels,  and  throw  their  parti- 


28 


TOI.EDO   AND    CORDOVA. 


colored  reflections  on  the  eighty-eight  columns  which  uplift 
the  gorgeous  ceiling.     There  are  noble  pictures  and  glorious 


••»  V 


tombs  —  a  collection  of  works  of  art,  in  short,  which  might 
be  the  sufficient  goal  of  any  pilgrimage. 

The  Church  of  St.  John  of  the  Kings  must  not  be  forgotten, 
or  its  lovely  cloister,  with  its  richly  clustered  pillars  on  three 
sides,  and  its  perfect  Gothic  arches.  This  cloister  is  being 
slowly  restored,  but  meantime  the  undisciplined    roses  have 


T0I.EDO   AND    CORDOVA.  29 

their  wa}-  in  it.  We  gathered  great  bunches  of  them.  Out- 
side this  church  hang  chains,  which  were  suspended  there  as 
votive  offerings  by  captives  who  liad  been  delivered  from  the 
power  of  the  Moorish  infidel. 

Two  synagogues  yet  remain  to  attest  the  former  importance 
of  the  Jews  in  Toledo.  The  ceiling  of  one  of  these  synagogues 
was  made  of  beams  from  the  cedars  of  L,ebanon. 

lyCgends  say  that  Toledo  was  the  place  of  refuge  of  the 
Jews  when  Jerusalem  was  taken  by  Nebuchadnezzar.  So 
ancient  is  it  that  you  can  believe  anything,  from  the  tale  that 
ascribes  its  foundation  to  Hercules  to  that  other  solemnly 
enforced  and  detailed  account  which  asserts  that  Tubal  began 
to  build  it  one  hundred  and  fortj^-three  years,  to  a  day,  after 
the  Deluge. 

It  looks  old  enough  to  have  been  begun  even  before  the 
Deluge,  and  it  is  certain  that,  when  the  Moors  first  took  it, it 
was  largely  populated  by  Hebrews. 

You  feel  as  if  nothing  there  ever  had  been  or  ever  could 
be  young,  until  you  look  up  to  some  vine- wreathed  balcony, 
and  meet  the  dark  eyes  of  some  Spanish  beauty,  smiling 
coquettishly  from  under  her  lace  mantilla  ;  and  then,  suddenly, 
the  old,  old  world  seems  eternally  young,  with  love  and  hope 
and  smiles  springing  up  like  flowers  in  the  sun  of  every  summer. 

When  the  Christians  recovered  Toledo  from  the  Moors 
they  set  a  heavy  tax  upon  every  Jewish  head ;  but  the  Jews 
were  allowed  to  retain  their  synagogues,  on  the  plea  that  they 
had  not  consented  to  the  death  of  the  Saviour.  When  Christ 
was  brought  to  judgment,  they  said,  the  votes  of  the  tribes 
had  been  taken,  and  one  tribe  had  voted  for  His  acquittal,  and 
from  this  tribe  were  the  Jews  of  Toledo  descended ! 

Can  you  fancy,  at  all,  this  quaint  old  town,  high,  high 
above  its  yellow  river,  with  its  substantial  Moorish  architecture, 
its  narrow  streets  which  wind  and  climb  through  the  desolate 
city  where  two  hundred  thousand  people  used  to  make  merry, 
and  where  its  poor  twenty  thousand  live  now  as  quietly  as  if 
they  were  all  holding  their  breath,  in  order  not  to  wake  the 
echoes  of  some  long-dead  past  ? 


30  TOI.EDO   AND   CORDOVA. 

Can  you  fancy  in  this  solemn,  silent  place,  possessed  by 
ghosts  of  Romans,  Goths,  Jews,  Moors  and  Christians,  red 
roses  flaunting  their  brightness  in  the  warm  south  wind,  and 
3'oung  cheeks  glowing  with  new  joys  and  hopes  as  if  no  one 
had  ever  died  ? 

It  seems  to  me  that  they  need  courage,  this  Spanish 
handful, — to  laugh  and  live  thus  among  the  shades  of  the 
departed. 

Did  we  find  Cordova  more  lively?  Somewhat  so,  perhaps; 
and  yet  Cordova,  like  Toledo,  is  a  city  which  has  been,  and  is 
not  —  which  belongs  more  to  the  dead  than  to  the  living;  for 
the  gay  days  are  past  when  it  used  to  be  called  ' '  The  City  of 
the  thirty  suburbs  and  the  three  hundred  mosques." 

Here,  as  in  Toledo,  are  "patios,"  and  though  I  have  heard 
them  called  courtyards,  a  "patio"  is  not  precisely  a  courtyard, 
nor  yet  is  it  a  garden  or  a  room,  but  it  is  a  delicious  combi- 
nation of  all  three. 

A  small  vestibule  is  usually  between  it  and  the  street.  On 
its  four  sides  rise  slender  columns,  which  support  a  gallery. 
It  is  paved  with  marble.  In  the  centre  there  is  often  a 
fountain.  Palms  grow  in  these  patios  —  flowers  blossom  there, 
ivy  climbs  round  the  graceful  little  pillars ;  here  are  statues, 
perhaps,  or  busts,  or  graceful  urns. 

The  patio  is  the  heart  of  the  home  —  the  place  where  5'ou 
go  to  sip  after-dinner  coffee,  to  chat,  to  lounge,  to  dream. 

Cordova  was  of  importance  in  Caesar's  time ;  he  half 
destroyed  it  because  it  sided  with  Ponipey.  "The  Great 
Captain,"  who  was  born  there,  used  to  say  that  other  towns 
might  be  better  to  live  in,  but  the  place  in  w^iich  one  should 
be  born  was  certainly  Cordova.  Cordova  was  renowned,  in 
those  farthest  off  days,  for  its  men  of  letters,  whose  wisdom 
astonished  even  the  Romans. 

Roman  Cordova  yielded  to  the  Goths.  But  the  Goths  were 
conquered  in  turn  b}^  the  Moors,  and  Cordova  became  the 
capital  of  Moorish  Spain.  It  saw,  under  the  Moors,  the  days 
of  its  greatest  glory. 

In   the   tenth    century    it    contained    nearly    a    million   of 


TOLEDO  AND   CORDOVA.  3I 

inhabitants,  three  hundred  mosques,  nine  hundred  baths,  and 
six  hundred  inns.  How  is  the  mighty  fallen  !  It  is  said  to 
have  some  fift}^  thousand  inhabitants,  now ;  but  looking  back 
to  a  sojourn  of  some  days  there,  I  can  scarcelj'  remember  to 
have  met  any  one  in  the  streets,  save  tourists  and  beggars. 

The  place  still  has  beautiful  suburbs,  and  to  drive  out 
among  the  orange  orchards  and  the  olive  groves  is  a  memorable 
delight. 

But  to  me  Cordova  means  two  things  —  and  to  find  again 
those  two,  gladly  would  I  cross  sea  and  land.  I  would  give 
you  all  else  of  Cordova  willingly,  if  you  left  me  the  freedom 
of  the  Mosque-Cathedral  La  Mezquita,  and  of  the  Sultana's 
Garden. 

How  shall  one  picture  in  words  the  wonders  of  La  Mezquita  ? 
Its  exterior  gives  no  hint  of  what  awaits  3'ou,  for  it  is  sur- 
rounded by  walls  from  thirty  to  sixty  feet  in  height ;  but  once 
you  have  entered  through  the  Gate  of  Pardon  the  Court  of  the 
Orange-Trees,  the  enchantment  begins. 

It  means  so  little  to  say,  in  set  phrase,  that  there  are  a 
thousand  columns,  surmounted  by  the  Moorish  horseshoe 
arches  ;  and  that  some  of  these  columns  are  of  jasper,  some 
of  porphj-ry,  some  of  verd-antique,  and  no  two  alike.  You  do 
not  stop  to  think  of  these  details  ;  you  wander  on  and  on,  as 
among  the  countless  trees  of  a  forest.  You  lose  yourself  in 
this  divine  immensity.     It  is  like  nothing  else  on  earth. 

Look  where  you  will,  the  interminable  vista  stretches  out 
beyond,  and  allures  your  tireless  footsteps. 

The  stained  glass  of  the  windows,  when  the  sun  strikes  it, 
throws  patches  of  vivid  color  against  the  marbles.  The  place 
is  so  vast  that  you  scarcely  think  about  the  Cathedral  church, 
which  that  royal  vandal,  Charles  V.,  allowed  to  be  engrafted 
in  its  centre  in  1523  —  a  piece  of  barbarity  which  even  he  had 
the  grace  to  regret  when  he  came  to  see  it  later. 

There  is  one  tiny  chapel,  with  a  roof  like  a  shell,  which 
is  adorned  with  mosaics  sent  from  Constantinople.  These 
mosaics  are  said  to  be  the  finest  in  the  world.  This  is  the 
Ceca,  or  Mihrab,  the  Holy  of  Holies,  where  the  Koran  used  to 


32  TOLEDO   AND    CORDOVA. 

be  kept  on  a  stand  which  cost  a  sum  equal  to  five  millions  of 
dollars,  and  around  this  spot  the  verj-  marble  was  worn  in  a 
circular  hollow  by  the  faithful  Mussulmans  who  used  to  crawl 
around  it  on  their  hands  and  knees. 

I  have  passed  long  afternoons  in  I^a  Mezquita  —  wandering 
up  and  down  among  the  aisles  of  this  wonderful  forest, 
studying  the  exquisite  tracery  of  the  carvings,  recalling  the 
old  legends  which  cluster  about  the  spot,  kneeling  with  the 
faithful  at  their  prayers,  or  kneeling  alone  in  some  far-off 
corner,  and  listening  to  the  remote  sound  of  the  holy  music, 
half  able  to  fancy  that  I  was  in  some  outer  court  of  heaven. 
It  is  after  such  an  afternoon  as  this  that  I  would  gather  roses 
in  the  Sultana's  Garden,  that  thus  I  might  be  brought  back  to 
the  simpler  joys  of  our  human  life,  and  find  rest  for  my  soul 
after  the  exaltation  born  of  the  Mezquita. 

How  long  ago  did  the  Sultan  make  this  garden  for  his  love  ? 
I  do  not  remember  how  many  hundred  years  have  passed  since 
the  dark-eyed  beauty  gathered  its  first  roses,  but  still  they 
freight  the  soft  wind  with  their  breath,  and  still  the  fairy  ferns 
grow  green,  and  the  oranges  ripen  in  the  sun,  and  the  solemn 
old  carp  are  happy  in  the  fish-pool ;  and  I  audaciously  pluck 
the  roses  that  are  the  far-off  descendants  of  those  of  that  long- 
past  time,  and  the  Sultana  never  heeds  my  trespass.  She  is 
as  dead  as  Cordova.  ^^^^^^  Chandler  Moulton. 


The  Venetian   Gondola, 


The  gondola  is  the  carriage  of  Venice,  and  a  most  delightful 
one  it  is.  The  conductor  is  out  of  sight  behind,  like  the  driver 
of  the  London  hansom  cab,  and  nothing  obstructs  the  occu- 
pant's view  except  the  graceful  steel  prow,  waving  slightly  to 
and  fro  as  if  it  were  a  living  animal  dragging  the  vehicle. 

A  finely  outlined,  handsomely  ornamented  fiat-bottomed 
boat  is  the  gondola.  It  rests  lightly  upon  the  water,  and  is 
propelled  and  guided  as  easily  as  an  Indian's  birch-bark 
canoe.  It  draws  so  little  water  that  it  can  pass  through  the 
shallowest  canals  at  low  tide. 

When  the  Adriatic  overflows  the  grand  square  of  St. 
Mark's,  as  it  does  sometimes  during  the  spring  tides,  the 
gondola  glides  up  to  the  cafes  and  takes  on  board  those  who 
object  to  wading  home  along  the  quays. 

But  the  gondola  belongs  to  the  luxury  of  Venice,  as  the 
private  carriages  and  hacks  do  to  our  American  cities.  It  is 
for  pleasure  and  accommodation,  not  for  business.  Even 
when  bringing  strangers  from  the  railroad  stations  and  the 
foreign  steamers,  the  heavy  luggage  is  left  to  be  transported 
by  the  ' '  barca  "  —  a  more  common  fiat-bottomed  boat  used 
for  merchandise. 

Those  who  have  never  visited  Venice  have  a  vague  idea 
that  to  get  from  one  end  of  the  city  to  another  one  is  always 
obliged  to  go  by  boat.  This  is  not  so.  Unless  one  wishes  to 
visit  the  neighboring  islands,  he  can  gain  any  part  on  foot, 
although  he  may  have  to  pass  through  many  narrow  streets 
and  climb  up  and  down  innumerable  steps  over  bridges. 

Comparatively  few  of  the  inhabitants  ever  go  in  boats. 
Only  people  of  the  class  who  in  our  cities  keep  carriages 
possess  a  gondola.  The  middle-class  natives  seldom  hire  a 
gondola,  and  would  as  soon  think  of  taking  one  to  go  a  short 
distance  as,  in  a  mainland  city,  a  poor  man  would  of  taking 


34 


THE  VENETIAN   GONDOLA. 


a  cab.  When  a  native  must  take  a  conve3'ance  for  the  rail- 
road station  there  are  the  omnibus  boats,  and  lately  the 
steamboats,  to  supply  the  place  of  our  horse-cars. 

Here  in  Venice,  where  all  freight  traffic  is  done  b}^  boats, 
there  are  large  barges  instead  of  trucks,  and  numerous  small 


^ 


f? 


V^ 


ones  instead  of  hand-carts  and  wheelbarrows  for  the  butcher, 
baker  and  candlestick-maker.  These  small  boats  are  of  all 
shapes  and  sizes,  but  the  usual  form  is  a  large,  light,  graceful 
skiff  called  a  "  sandolo,"  easily  propelled  by  one  oar. 

I  have  heard  a  sandolo  called  ' '  the  donkey-cart  of  Venice." 
That  well  describes  this  small  boat  and  its  naany  uses  ;  but 


THE    VENETIAN    GONDOLA.  35 

the  sandolo  or  ' '  gondoleta  ' '  often  rises  to  the  dignit}^  of  a 
pony-carriage  when  it  is  more  carefully  constructed  of  hand- 
some wood.  Then  the  single  seat  is  cushioned  comfortably, 
and  the  vessel  is  propelled  by  an  amateur  boatman. 

I  use  the  word  propelled,  as  I  am  undecided  whether  I 
should  say  rowed,  sculled  or  paddled;  for  the  gondola  and 
the  sandolo  are  alike  propelled  by  a  single  oarsman  with  a 
single  oar.  He  does  not  paddle,  for  he  uses  a  rowlock,  and 
he  does  not  scull,  for  the  oar  is  not  placed  in  the  stern,  but 
at  one  side. 

The  gondolier  stands  in  the  stern  on  a  little  raised  platform, 
and  plys  his  oar  on  the  right  side.  He  uses  a  high  rowlock 
called  "  forchetta "  (fork).  It  is  not  unlike  a  fork  much 
battered  and  twisted. 

He  faces  the  prow,  gives  a  long,  vigorous  push,  and 
throws  the  force  of  not  only  his  arms  but  his  whole  body  into 
the  stroke.  Then  he  drags  the  oar  slightly  in  the  water 
before  the  next  stroke,  and  by  so  doing,  in  some  way  all  his 
own,  keeps  the  boat  straight. 

The  peculiar  stroke  gives  a  slight  sidewise  movement  to 
the  boat  which  is  not  unpleasant.  As  there  is  no  thumping 
of  the  rowlock,  the  slight  swish  of  the  oar,  that  seems  to 
whisper  enjoyment,  can  be  heard  as  it  is  dragged  through 
the  water. 

It  is  difficult  to  catch  the  trick  of  using  an  oar  in  the 
Venetian  fashion,  and  very  easy  for  the  novice  to  lose  his 
balance  ;  but  a  stranger  is  not  recognized  as  a  Venetian  until 
he  has  fallen  overboard,  and  I  am  sure  few  have  played  at 
being  a  gondolier  without  getting  a  complete  ducking. 

The  gondolas  and  smaller  boats  are  built  in  Venice.  One 
of  the  principal  ' '  gondola  yards  "  is  on  a  canal  near  the 
Church  of  San  Trovaso.  It  has  served  as  a  subject  for  many 
a  picture,  with  its  dark  shed  and  church  tower  and  acacia- 
trees  for  a  background. 

Here  also  old  gondolas  are  repaired.  As  they  lie  bottom 
upward  along  the  quay,  they  look  much  more  like  a  lot  of 
small  whales  washed  ashore  than  the  graceful  boat  that  rides 


36 


THE   VENETIAN    GONDOLA. 


SO  lighth^  on  the  waters.  The  cost  of  a  gondola,  entirely 
finished, with  its  steel  prow,  brasses,  cushions  and  numerous 
trappings,  is  about  one  thousand  lire,  or  two  hundred  dollars. 

This  is  a  large  sum  for  a  Venetian,  who  is  often  obliged  to 
discharge  the  debt  in  monthly  and  quarterly  payments.  The 
debt  frequently  runs  on  for  years.  The  gondolier,  in  the 
season  of  travel,  hires  out  himself  and  boat  for  five  lire,  one 
dollar  a  day.  There  is  a  long  winter  in  Venice  with  few 
travellers,  when  the  gondolier  will  tell  you  he  has  "much 
want  of  money." 

All  along  the  quays  opposite  the  Doge's  palace  and  the 
public  gardens,  and  at  interv^als  on  the  Grand  Canal,  are 
gondola  stations,  which  are  also  ferries.  Here  the  gondolas 
that  are  for  hire  all  cluster  and  do  the  ferrying  across  the 
Grand  Canal  or  to  the  adjacent  islands. 

For  centuries  the  gondoliers  were  a  power  in  Venice  and  a 
close  corporation,  limited  in  number,  into  which  it  was  not 
easy  to  obtain  admission.  But  the  organization  of  a  steam- 
boat company  broke  their  power. 

Although  they  joined  in  a  strike,  they  could  not  fight 
against  the  modern  invention.  They  still  ply  up  and  down 
the  Grand  Canal  and  are  boisterous  around  the  ferries,  but 
their  days  are  numbered ;  for  the  modern  dragon,  the 
steamboat,  has  come,  and  it  will  slowly  but  surely  make  the 
gondolier  a  picturesque  object  of  the  past. 

Henry  Bacon. 


*>    Ompanilg  a,  Duwl  Pdlci(,e 


A  Climb  up  Mount  Vesuvius. 

There  are  few  things  more  interesting  to  most  people  than 
a  volcano  —  a  "burning  mountain."  Even  the  dullest  geo- 
graphical lesson  at  school  became  interesting  when  the 
wonders  of  Hecla  or  Etna,  the  eruptions  of  Vesuvius  or 
Stromboli,  or  the  strange  feats  of  the  American  geysers  came 
under  notice  —  even  when  these  were  dilated  upon  in  a  prosy 
way. 

Of  all  the  volcanoes  in  the  world  Vesuvius  is  perhaps  the 
most  interesting.  It  is  easy  to  climb,  for  it  is  only  four 
thousand  feet  high  ;  and  if  you  do  not  wish  to  climb  it  on  foot, 
six  dollars  will  take  you  up  in  a  carriage  to  the  foot  of  the 
cone,  where  you  will  find  a  wire-rope  railway  which  will  carry 
3^ou  to  the  very  top. 

Therefore  it  is  of  all  volcanoes  probably  the  easiest  of 
access,  and  certainly  of  all  it  has  the  most  continuous  and 
thrilling  history. 

The  plain  in  which  Vesuvius  stands  is,  and  always  was, 
one  of  the  most  fertile  spots  in  Europe.  It  was  called  Campania 
Felix  —  the  fortunate  or  happy  plain  —  in  Roman  times,  and 
this  name, has  lingered  on  throughout  the  Christian  centuries, 
as  indeed  so  appropriate  a  name  deserved  to  do. 

In  our  days  the  district  grows  many  crops  of  which  the 
ancients  were  ignorant.  It  is  certain  that  in  Roman  times 
Campania  did  not  produce  either  oranges  or  lemons ;  now 
they  are  one  of  the  principal  sources  of  the  wealth  of  Naples, 
from  whose  port  many  fruit  ships  sail  annually  to  the  United 
States. 

It  is  certain  also,  that  in  Roman  times  tobacco,  that  plant 
with  which  the  New  World  endowed  the  Old  two  hundred 
years  ago,  was  not  cultivated  either.  To-day,  upon  the  plain 
round  Pompeii,  are  many  acres  of  this  crop. 

To  enumerate  the  products  of  the  district  would  be  a  long 


38  A   CLIMB   UP   MOUNT   VESITVIUS. 

task.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  on  the  sunny  slopes  of  the  vast 
plain  we  find  indigo,  liquorice,  tobacco,  rice,  olives,  lemons, 
grape-vines,  oranges,  walnuts,  chestnuts,  corn  of  all  sorts,  figs 


and  peaches  ;  besides  many  of  the  fruits  which  belong  to  the 
Torrid  Zone,  and  nearly  all  those  of  the  temperate  regions. 
Although  the  plain  is  too  hot  for  some  of  the  Northern  fruits, 
these  grow  luxuriantly  on  the  hills  which  surround  it.     The 


A   CLIMB   UP   MOUNT  VESUVIUS.  39 

soil  is  deep  and  rich,  the  sun  is  bright  and  warm,  and  the 
rain  is  abundant  throughout  the  winter  months. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  grand  display  of  the  prodigal 
bounties  of  nature  stands  Vesuvius,  a  grand  monument  of  the 
hidden  forces  of  destruction  —  dark,  barren,  uncultivated  and 
desolate. 

When  we  cast  our  eyes  up  the  slopes  of  the  mountain,  the 
border-line  of  cultivation  shines  out  with  bright  green  radiance, 
while  abutting  on  it  is  the  bleak  barrenness  of  what  we  can 
only  compare  to  a  huge  cinder  heap. 

When  an  eruption  occurs,  a  stream  of  red-hot  slag  flows 
down  like  a  river  of  molten  iron  ;  sometimes  rapidly,  where 
the  declivity  is  steep,  sometimes  slowly,  where  its  course  is 
impeded  by  a  rock  or  a  fissure.  In  any  case  it  carries  all 
before  it.  If  it  is  flowing  slowly  we  can  hardly  see  its  progress. 
It  rolls  up  to  a  house,  and  the  house  falls  before  it — we 
hardly  know  how.  It  approaches  a  tree,  and  wraps  it  in  its 
fiery  mantle.  The  sap  within  the  tree  generates  steam,  and 
the  tree  explodes  with  a  sound  like  the  discharge  of  a  cannon. 
As  long  as  the  supply  continues  from  the  mountain,  so  long 
does  the  stream  push  on  until  it  rolls  into  the  sea,  where 
it  casts  up  volumes  of  steam  and  hisses  as  if  it  were  bent  on 
competing  with  the  fiery  vent-hole  at  the  top  of  the  mountain. 

Interesting  as  these  eruptions  undoubtedly  are,  it  is  always 
best  to  view  them  from  a  respectful  distance,  as  the  vapors 
issuing  from  their  vicinity  are  very  likely  to  choke  or  scald 
one  who  approaches  too  near  them.  This  was  the  case  in 
1872,  when  a  party  of  people  were  killed  by  a  sudden  jet  of 
steam  which  burst  forth  from  a  fissure  close  to  them  without  a 
moment's  warning. 

It  is  impossible  to  tell  when  or  where  such  fissures  will  be 
opened,  for  the  whole  subsoil  is  in  a  condition  of  explosion. 
Earthquakes  are  almost  incessant,  and  the  shaking  opens 
fissures  in  many  places. 

I,et  us  ascend  the  mountain,  winding  in  our  spring  wagon 
over  the  steep  road,  watching  the  Bay  of  Naples  sparkling  in 
the  sunshine,  and  seeing  the  bright  glow  of  evening  casting 


40  A    CLIMB    UP    INIOUNT   VEvSUVIUS. 

its  rosy  light  over  the  busy  city  at  our  feet.  The  pleasantest 
way  to  see  Vesuvius  is  to  visit  it  on  a  summer  night.  As 
the  sun  dips  below  the  horizon  and  throws  up  the  island  of 
Ischia,  like  a  purple  mist  set  in  a  gold  frame,  the  first  moon- 
rays  are  already  beginning  to  gleam  behind  the  distant 
Apennines  ;  and  before  we  are  half-way  across  the  vast  lava- 
beds,  we  are  in  a  fairy  scene  of  silver  brightness,  checkered 
with  the  dark  shadows  and  rugged  outlines  of  the  lava  streams 
around  us. 

At  midnight  we  reach  the  lower  station  of  the  rope  railway 
which  is  to  draw  us  up  the  cone.  Here  man  and  horse  must 
have  rest  and  supper.  In  an  hour's  time  we  are  seated  in  a 
car,  and  being  hauled  up  the  steep  sides  of  the  cone. 

A  short  walk  brings  us  to  the  eruptive  centre,  and  what  a 
scene  meets  us  there  !  Steam  is  coming  out  in  large  puffs 
from  the  eruptive  cone,  and  now  and  then  with  a  loud  roar 
the  mountain  casts  large  masses  of  red-hot  stones  higher  and 
higher  into  the  air. 

It  is  quite  dark  now,  for  the  moon  has  set.  We  see  the 
red  vapor  rise  fiercely  as  the  hot  stones  Hy  upward  in  grandeur. 
The  still  night  air  is  rent  by  the  roar  of  the  mountain,  as  it 
discharges  a  fiery  volley  into  space,  presently  to  fall  in  a 
shower  on  the  rocks  around  us,  spattering  upon  them  with 
a  harsh  clatter. 

As  dawn  begins  to  break  we  see  the  shadow  of  the  moun- 
tain projected  across  the  bay.  The"  peaks  to  the  eastward  are 
warmed  with  a  glow  of  sunlight,  and  the  blue  sea  to  the 
westward  is  tinged  with  a  golden  halo.  It  is  a  scene  of 
mar\'ellous  grandeur  and  beauty,  and  we  should  forget  its 
danger  if  the  dead  city  of  Pompeii  did  not  lie  at  the  foot  of 
the  slope,  four  thousand  feet  beneath  us,  teaching  us  its  dread 
lesson. 

Our  experienced  guide  wakes  us  from  this  reverie,  for  it  is 
full  daylight  now,  and  we  can  approach  nearer  the  crater 
without  great  danger. 

We  follow  him  confidently,  though  we  are  half-stifled  by 
the  fumes  of  the  sulphur.     As  we  approach  we  experience  an 


A    CLIMB    UP    MOUNT   VESUVIUS. 


41 


uncomfortable  sensation,  for  the  hot  stones  now  and  then  fall 
unpleasantly  near  us.  Our  guide  puts  the  ladies  in  a  place 
of  safety ;  but  we  may  go  on,  always  watching  his  every 
gesture  and  keeping  an  eye  on  the  mountain. 

The  walking  is  rough  and  steep  now ;  the  fumes  are 
almost  stifling,  and  the  cinders  beneath  us  are  so  hot  that  we 
feel  our  feet  burning.  The  guide  puts  his  handkerchief  over 
his  mouth  ;  we  follow  his  example. 

He  has  reached  the  top,  and  we  are  close  behind  him. 
We  look  over,  and  see  a  mass  of  red-hot  cinders  like  a  burning 
cliff.  As  the  wind  clears  away  the  steam  we  look  down, 
down,  into  a  black  gulf  —  a  very  Tartarus  of  immensity. 

The  mountain  roars  again  ;  the  red-hot  stones  fl}'  past  us. 
We  are  safe  here  because  the  wind  is  now  quite  strong  and 
carries  the  stones  to  leeward  ;  but  it  is  not  a  place  to  linger  in. 
A  sudden  change  of  wind  might  mean  death.  The  falling  in 
of  the  ridge  on  which  we  stand  would  mean  death  also. 

The  scene  is  inspiriting  and  exciting  to  the  last  degree, 

and  as  we  turn  to  descend,  and  see  our  friends  looking  at  us 

through  their  field-glasses,  we  feel  that  they,  too,  must  have 

held  their  breath  when  they  saw  us  apparently  shrouded  in 

steam  and  close  to  the  vortex.  ^,     -^     _ 

E.    N.    ROLFE. 


Alpine  Village  Life. 


The  mode  of  life  of  the  peasants  in  the  higher  and  more 
remote  regions  of  the  Alps  has  remained  unchanged  for  centu- 
ries. Far  away  from  cities,  railroads  and  modern  travellers,  the 
mountain  peasant  lives  as  his  ancestors  did  many  generations 
ago,  and  one  is  likely  to  find  him  living  in  the  house  where 
his  great-grandfather  was  born. 

The  house  is  a  large,  unpainted,  two-story  structure,  built 
of  square  pine  logs,  with  the  ends  projecting  at  the  corners, 
and  sometimes  canned  into  pretty  shapes.  The  building  is 
full  of  little,  long  windows,  filled  with  flowers,  and  the  roof  is 
made  of  large  clapboards  fastened  in  place  with  poles  and 
stones. 

I  recall  such  a  house,  one  of  a  hundred  forming  the  little 
village  of  Obstalden  on  the  high  bench  of  a  mountain  slope 
above  the  Wallen  See  —  the  most  enchanting  little  lake,  I 
think,  in  Switzerland.  This  body  of  water  is  seventeen  miles 
long,  and  two  or  three  miles  wide.  It  is  clear  as  crystal,  five 
hundred  feet  deep,  and  closed  in  by  a  nearly  perpendicular 
wall  of  rocks  two  thousand  feet  high. 

Back  of  the  lake  a  little  distance  are  ridges  and  peaks  nine 
thousand  feet  above  sea-level,  with  white  glaciers  and  beautiful 
waterfalls. 

I  spent  three  summer  vacations  in  Obstalden,  and  aside 
from  a  few  friends  whom  I  took  there,  I  never  saw  an  English 
or  an  American  tourist  in  the  place.  Like  many  another 
remote  village  of  the  Alps,  the  great  outside  world  never  heard 
of  Obstalden. 

The  first  and  pleasantest  recollection  one  has  of  the  village, 
after  the  wonderful  scenery,  is  the  perfect  simplicity  of  the 
people,  and  the  familiar  greeting  of  the  stranger  that  comes 
from  every  lip.  Every  one  seems  to  know  him  ;  every  one 
speaks  to  him  as  to  a  friend.     One  seems  to  have  been  there  a 


AI.PINE   VILLAGK    I.IFE. 


43 


long  time,  and  to  have  known  the  people  well.     It  seems  hard 
to  call  the  hundred  houses  scattered  around  on  the  green  slope 


a  town.  The  grass  grows  everywhere,  quite  up  to  the  door- 
steps. There  is  no  other  street  in  the  place,  except  the  white, 
well-paved  post-road  that  goes  by,  not  through,  the  village. 


44  ALPINE  VILLAGE   LIFE. 

lyittle  stony  goat-paths  lead  up  to  and  around  the  houses,  and 
there  is  hardly  a  fence  to  be  seen  in  the  place. 

But  it  is  a  town.  There  is  the  little  stone  church  with  the 
white  steeple  and  the  big-faced  clock  outside,  and  the  stone 
floors  and  the  plain  wooden  benches  within.  There,  on  the 
south  end  of  the  church,  is  painted,  in  great  letters  and 
figures,  the  big  sun-dial,  used  long  before  the  village  had  a 
clock. 

Behind  the  little  stone  church  is  the  village  burial-ground  ; 
and  near  b}'  the  old,  old  schoolhouse,  and  the  happy  children, 
and  the  village  pastor,  also  their  teacher. 

How  old  and  long  and  thin  the  pastor  looks  !  It  is  little 
to  him  that  he  is  very  poor ;  most  village  pastors  are.  But 
his  religion  is  very  rich,  and  his  heart  very  great ;  great 
enough  to  contain  the  joys  and  the  woes  of  every  man,  woman 
and  child  in  the  village.  Where  lives  the  millionaire  so  great 
or  so  rich  as  that  ? 

I  have  said  that  the  big  brown  houses  are  scattered  about 
over  the  sloping  meadow.  Each  is  large  enough  for  two  or 
three  families  ;  and  owing  to  the  absolute  want  of  dust  and 
dirt  on  this  green  slope,  every  house  is  as  clean  as  fancy  could 
wish. 

They  are  in  a  sense  comfortable  enough,  but  the}^  are 
sparsely  furnished.  Rude  benches  often  take  the  place  of 
chairs.  There  are  no  carpets  on  the  floor,  few  pictures  on  the 
wall,  and  little  of  the  luxury  known  to  the  homes  of  many 
American  farmers. 

In  almost  every  peasant's  house  stands  an  old-fashioned 
wooden  silk  loom.  It  occupies  the  best  corner  of  the  best 
room.  It  is  of  more  importance  than  the  piano  or  organ  of 
the  American  home,  for  with  it  is  earned  a  great  part  of  the 
living  of  the  famil5^  Silk  cloth  is  woven  for  the  great 
exporters  at  Zurich,  and  the  women  are  satisfied  to  earn  thirty 
to  forty  cents  a  day,  weaving  from  dawn  till  evening  twilight. 

While  the  women  are  weaving,  the  men  cut  grass  and  wood, 
cultivate  a  few  potatoes,  look  after  their  little  dairies,  and 
prepare  for  the  winter.     Those  of  the  women  not  engaged  at 


ALPINE   VILLAGE    LIFE.  45 

the  loom  help  the  men  out-of-doors.  Goat  cheese  is  made 
here  in  abundance.  It  is  an  interesting  sight  to  see  the  village 
goat-herd,  usually  a  3'oung  man,  start  off  every  morning, 
driving  all  the  goats  of  the  village  to  the  grass  on  higher 
mountain  slopes. 

His  is  a  strange  existence  ;  he  is  alone  all  the  long  summer 
da}^  with  his  goats,  the  sunshine  and  the  mountains. 

Evening  twilight  sees  him  at  the  head  of  his  flock,  winding 
his  way  down  to  the  village.  A  great  wreath  of  pink 
Alpine  roses  is  twined  about  his  hat ;  sometimes  another  rose- 
wreath  is  slung  over  his  shoulders.  He  sings  the  Alpine 
"Kuhreihen,"  a  hundred  times  more  melodious  for  being 
echoed  by  its  native  Alps. 

Sometimes  with  a  rude  flute  he  leads  the  herd,  and  like 
another  Orpheus,  seems  almost  to  charm  the  rocks  and  trees 
with  his  music.  The  long  line  of  goats  follows  him  gladly 
down  to  the  group  of  stalls  called  "  the  village  of  the  goats." 

The  goat  village  consists  of  scores  of  little  low,  covered 
pens,  lined  with  forest  leaves,  and  as  snug  as  can  be.  It  is 
noticeable  how  every  goat  knows  its  own  stall  among  the 
hundreds,  and  promptly  enters  it.  ' '  It's  a  poor,  foolish  goat, ' ' 
says  the  herdsman,  "that  does  not  know  its  own  milking- 
place." 

The  cheese,  like  the  woven  silk,  is  all  sent  to  the  cities  ; 
and  a  large  part  of  both  are  exported  to  the  United  States. 

It  is  interesting  to  know  that  a  large  part  of  the  raw  silk 
used  by  these  Alpine  peasants  in  their  weaving  comes  from 
far-off  China,  traversing  our  continent  by  the  Pacific  railways, 
crossing  the  Atlantic  to  London  or  Havre,  and  at  last  finding 
its  way  up  into  the  Alps  to  be  woven,  and  returned  to  us  in 
silk  dresses. 

It  is  little  wonder  that  silk  is  too  dear  for  these  weavers  in 
the  Alps  to  wear.  Probably  not  one  of  them  ever  owned  a 
silk  dress  in  her  life  ;  but  they  are  content  without  it,  and 
prefer,  a  hundred  times  over,  the  picturesque  village  costume 
they  wear  on  all  festal  occasions. 

Aside  from  the  flowers  in  the  windows,  the  beautiful  silk 


46 


ALPINE   VILLAGE   LIFE. 


on  the  weaver's  loom  is  likel}'  to  be  the  only  attractive  thing 
in  her  room.  One  thing  always  to  be  found  in  a  Swiss  home, 
and  in  almost  every  room,  is  a  great  cylinder-shaped  column 
of  white  porcelain.  It  is  seven  feet  high,  and  cold  as  it  looks 
in  its  whiteness,  it  is  the  family  stove. 

In  the  Alps  the  form  of  the  stove  varies.  The  huge  pile 
of  porcelain  may  be  cube-shaped,  painted  green,  and  mounted 
on  feet. 

Sometimes  tiny  steps  lead  to  the  top  of  this  peculiar  stove, 
where  a  curtain  is  hung  so  as  to  form  a  little  warm  room, 
perhaps  six  feet  square.  In  this  the  children  go  to  dress  on 
very  cold  mornings. 

It  has  been  said  that  the  people  of  these  Alpine  villages 
are  very  poor  —  too  poor  and  ignorant  to  love  and  enjoy  the 
grand  scenes  about  them.  It  is  a  mistake.  Poor,  in  a  sense, 
they  are  ;  but  if,  with  their  little  herds,  their  green  meadows 
and  their  simple  lives  they  are  content,  then  are  they  also  rich. 

The  Alpine  Peasant  loves  the  mountains  about  him,  and 
more  than  one  lone  wanderer  from  the  Alps  to  foreign  lands 
has  been  known  to  die  of  heartache,  longing  for  the  scenes  of 
his  childhood.  g_    j^_    j^j_    -g^,^j^3_ 


:^^i^^-*-^- 


Down  the  Moselle. 

The  River  Moselle,  often  called  "The  Bride  of  the  Rhine," 
is  even  more  picturesque  than  the  Rhine  itself.  It  is  more 
winding,  and  also  narrower,  so  that  the  voyager  is  nearer  the 
beauty  and  quaintness  of  its  shores.  Its  bordering  hills, 
although  no  higher  than  those  along  the  Rhine,  are  at  least 
equally  impressive,  while  the  valleys  and  ravines  which  wind 
away  between  them  are  more  irregular  and  inviting. 

A  rowing  trip  down  the  Moselle  is  safe,  easy,  and  full  of 
pleasure.  One  may  start  at  Metz,  or  even  at  Nancy,  but  the 
best  point  is  Treves,  the  German  Trier.  This  ancient  town, 
itself  so  interesting  by  reason  of  its  Roman  ruins  and  its 
mediaeval  buildings,  is  reached  directly  from  Cologne  in  less 
than  six  hours  by  the  Eifel  railway,  through  a  delightfully 
picturesque  country.  From  Brussels  or  Paris  a  longer  journey 
is  necessary. 

A  boat  can  be  obtained  at  Treves,  near  the  bridge.  The 
ordinary  Moselle  rowboat  is  to  be  avoided,  if  possible,  for  it 
is  heavy  and  clumsy.  The  lighter  the  boat,  consistent  with 
safety  and  roominess,  the  better,  for  along  many  a  reach  of 
the  river  it  must  be  rowed  straight  into  the  wind,  which 
meeting  the  adverse  current,  often  stirs  up  quite  a  sea. 

The  writer  and  his  friend  were  so  fortunate  as  to  find  an 
English-built  lapstreak  wherry,  just  large  enough  to  accom- 
modate them  and  their  luggage  comfortably,  and  it  proved 
exactly  what  they  desired.  They  bought  the  boat  outright, 
with  oars  and  rudder,  for  about  thirt}'  dollars.  Probably  this 
was  more  than  its  real  worth,  but  it  was  so  much  superior  to 
the  common  river  craft  that  the  bargain  seemed  wise.  At 
Coblenz  it  was  sold  for  just  a  third  of  its  cost. 

The  less  luggage  the  better,  and  veiy  little  is  needed. 
Heavy  articles  may  be  forwarded  by  rail  or  steamer  to  Coblenz. 
The  summer  suit  which  one  ordinarily  wears  answers  every- 


48  DOWN   THE   MOSELLE. 

where,  if  a  pair  of  the  trousers  of  the  country  —  costing 
eightj^-seven  cents  —  be  worn  while  rowing.  Flannel  shirts 
are  most  suitable.  A  thin  overcoat  and  an  umbrella  for  each 
traveller  are  desirable.  A  strong  pair  of  gloves  is  important, 
because  the  oars,  being  hung  on  pins,  after  the  antiquated 
Moselle  custom,  instead  of  resting  in  rowlocks,  cannot  be 
feathered,  and  chafe  the  skin  severely. 

There  need  be  no  anxiety  about  quarters  for  the  night,  for 
the  villages  seldom  are  more  than  a  mile  apart,  and  each  has 
its  inn,  where  one  finds  a  friendly  welcome  and  endurable, 
often  very  satisfactory,  accommodations. 

The  trip  should  be  made,  if  possible,  as  early  as  midsum- 
mer, for  later  in  the  season  the  water  often  is  low.  There  is, 
however,  neither  danger  nor  much  difficulty  at  anj^  time.  It 
may  be  completed  enjoy  ably  in  four  or  five  days,  but  if  time 
be  taken  to  go  leisurely,  to  lie  by  during  rainy  days,  and  to 
make  excursions  inland,  the  enjoyment  will  be  increased. 

The  longer  the  trip,  within  reason,  the  more  completely  its 
delights  will  be  appreciated.  The  expense  need  not  be  great. 
Hotel  life  in  the  larger  towns,  including  little  extras,  costs 
not  more  than  three  dollars  a  day,  and  on  the  river  two  dollars 
and  a  half  will  cover  everything.  Indeed,  one  can  be  fairly 
comfortable  for  something  less. 

But  what  is  the  trip  like  ?  Imagine  yourself  at  last  gliding 
down  stream,  with  charming  Treves  fading  into  the  distance 
as  the  afternoon  shadows  lengthen.  You  are  at  the  oars, 
pulling  with  slow,  even  strokes.  Your  friend,  in  the  stern, 
holds  the  tiller.  You  are  fairly  under  waj^  and  already  the 
scenes  on  either  hand  begin  to  interest  you. 

Here,  for  instance,  you  pass  a  company  of  German  infantry, 
bathing.  They  keep  their  ranks,  and  at  signals  upon  the 
bugle,  throw  off  their  clothing,  plunge,  still  in  line,  into  the 
stream,  and  a  few  moments  later,  emerge  and  dress.  One 
wonders  if  they  do  not  eat,  drink,  and  even  sleep  in  company 
formation  and  only  at  signal. 

Now  you  pass  a  great  foundry  on  the  other  bank.  Vol- 
umes  of  smoke  pour  from  its  tall  chimney,  the  light  of  its 


DOWN   THE   MOSELLE.  49 

glowing  furnaces  illumines  its  dark  interior,  and  its  distant 
workmen  suggest  to  j^our  fancy  gnomes  working  in  some 
enchanted  cavern. 

Soon  you  round  a  bend  and  float  for  a  mile  or  two  between 
green  meadows,  behind  which  lie  villages  embowered  in  trees. 
A  rude  scow,  laden  with  peasants  returning  from  work  and 
singing  some  evening  hymn,  crosses  your  course.  There  a 
group  of  merry  girls  and  boys  run  along  the  nearest  bank, 
taking  you  for  Englishmen,  and  shouting,  "  Englander ! 
Englander  !  ' ' 

Now  it  grows  dark,  and  at  the  next  little  village  you  land, 
under  the  lee  of  a  jetty,  and  moor  your  boat  for  the  night. 
Until  5'ou  have  almost  reached  the  Rhine,  you  may  safely 
leave  anything  in  the  boat  overnight.  You  quickly  find  your 
way  into  the  village,  and  soon  are  settled  snugly  at  the  inn. 
Cold  pork  and  ham,  boiled  eggs,  rye  and  sweetened  white 
bread,  cakes,  with  plenty  of  whatever  fruit  is  in  season,  and 
beer  and  wine,  if  you  wish,  form  your  evening  meal.  The 
thick  feather  pillows  upon  your  bed,  one  of  which  is  intended 
to  serve  as  a  blanket,  are  rather  warm,  and  if  your  pitcher  held 
five  times  as  much  water  you  would  be  better  pleased.  But 
you  are  so  healthily  tired  that  you  sleep  soundly  until  the  bell 
of  the  neighboring  church  rouses  j^ou  next  morning. 

After  breakfast  the  maid-servant,  acting  as  porter,  carries 
your  luggage  to  the  boat.  Before  long,  perhaps,  the  shores 
in  front  of  you  look  surprisingly  white,  and,  as  you  float  down 
between  them,  you  find  them  covered  with  the  linen  of  hundreds 
of  families  which  has  been  washed  and  spread  out  to  dry  and 
bleach.  Many  lively  groups  of  washerwomen  are  passed,  who 
keep  up  an  incessant  spat-spatting  of  their  sheets  and  pillow- 
cases while  they  chat  and  joke. 

Presently  a  steamer,  one  of  the  regular  line  from  Coblenz 
up  river,  passes  j^ou,  and  its  passengers  scrutinize  you 
smilingly. 

Here  you  come  to  a  chain  ferry,  a  scow  made  fast  by  a 
buoyed  chain  to  an  anchor  far  up  in  midstream.  When  the 
scow  is  pushed  off,  the  pressure  of  the  current  swings  it  over 


Schloss    Eltz. 


DOWN   THE   MOSELTvE.  5 1 

to  the  other  shore.  But  as  the  weight  straightens  the  chain, 
bringing  it  sharply  out  of  water  between  the  six  or  eight 
buoys,  you  must  be  careful  not  to  be  caught  above  it,  or  you 
will  be  capsized  instantly.  Another  sort  of  ferry  is  common. 
A  strong  wire  rope  extends  from  a  tower  upon  one  bank  to  a 
similar  tower  opposite.  The  scow,  square-ended  and  flat- 
bottomed,  is  fastened  to  this  cable  by  another  rope  adjusted 
to  a  pulley,  and  is  drawn  across  cornerwise,  so  as  to  offer  the 
least  possible  resistance  to  the  current. 

Presently  you  land,  stroll  through  a  quiet  village,  buy 
fruit,  and  sketch  the  picturesque  outline  of  some  old  gabled 
house.  Perhaps  you  climb  a  neighboring  hill,  to  gain  the 
lovely  view  from  its  summit.  Later,  in  some  secluded  cove, 
you  linger  and  bathe.  You  explore  the  ruins  of  a  castle  upon 
a  bluff,  or  rest  beneath  some  sheltering  bridge  while  a  sudden 
shower  passes  over. 

Sometimes  for  miles  the  hillsides  rise  almost  from  the 
water's  edge,  and  are  covered  with  carefully  cultivated  vine- 
yards. Now  and  then  you  pass  a  considerable  town,  and  hear 
a  band  playing  in  the  garden  of  its  chief  hotel.  Sometimes 
the  river  is  so  winding  that  you  row  for  two  hours  and  a 
dozen  miles  in  order  to  reach  a  point  only  a  single  mile,  easily 
walked  in  fifteen  minutes,  from  your  starting-place.  Such  is 
the  case  between  Punderich  and  Alf.  Charming  views 
succeed  each  other  swiftly,  and  no  one  who  is  at  all  sensitive 
to  natural  beauty  can  fail  to  be  continually  delighted. 

The  Moselle  castles  are  less  famous  than  those  on  the 
Rhine,  perhaps,  but  are  quite  as  picturesque  and  equally 
worth  visiting.  Usually  they  stand,  protectingly,  upon  high 
places  above  the  villages.  Above  Bernkastel  is  Landshut,  a 
fine  old  ruin,  and  above  Trarbach  is  Grafinburg,  also  in  ruins. 
Near  Alf  are  the  stately  remains  of  the  Marienburg.  Above 
Beilstein  is  the  castle  of  the  same  name,  looking  almost 
inhabitable.  Cochem  lies  in  the  very  shadow  of  the  Friedburg, 
which  has  been  restored,  and  now  is  more  grand  without  and 
more  elegant  within  than  ever  in  the  past. 

But  the  most  striking  castle  of  all  is  Schloss  Kltz,  three 


52 


DOWN    THE    MOSELLE. 


miles  inland  from  Moselkern,  rising  upon  its  knoll  above  the 
mass  of  foliage  which  fills  the  surrounding  valley  like  some 
great  rock  above  the  waves  of  the  ocean.  It  is  one  of  the 
best  preserved  specimens  of  the  mediaeval  architecture  in  all 
Germany,  and  many  rooms  still  retain  their  historic  furnish- 
ings. It  is  not  open  to  everybody,  but  the  owner  willingly 
allows  entrance  to  any  who  apply  in  due  form  for  permission. 
These  are  only  suggestions  of  the  many  pleasures  which 
such  a  trip  affords.  On  reaching  the  Rhine  at  Coblenz  one 
finds  his  face  browned,  his  muscles  hardened,  his  appetite  be- 
come enormous,  and  his  appreciation  of  whatever  is  beautiful  in 
nature,  quaint  in  architecture,  or  entertaining  and  instructive  in 
intercourse  with  a  simple,  kindly  peasantry  greatly  intensified. 

Rev.  Morton  Dexter. 


SWEDEN. 


If  5'ou  were  to  go  up  in  a  balloon,  and  through  some 
misadventure  be  swept  so  far  away  over  the  globe  that  you 
dropped  down  in  Sweden,  you  would  soon  perceive  that, 
wherever  else  you  might  be,  you  could  not  possibly  be  any- 
where in  the  United  States. 

If  you  were  to  ask  the  first  boj^  you  met  to  tell  you  where 
you  were,  he  would  answer  in  a  strange  language.  If  you 
gave  him  a  penny  to  make  him  speak  more  plainly,  he  would 
take  off  his  cap  and  shake  hands  with  you. 

Suppose  he  takes  you  to  his  home,  and  you  sit  down  to 
breakfast  with  his  father,  mother,  brothers  and  sisters  ?  A 
little  flaxen-haired  girl,  the  youngest  child  of  the  household 
that  can  talk,  stands  at  her  father's  side  and  says  a  little  verse 
in  Swedish,  while  all  bow  their  heads  around  the  board.  I 
will  translate  what  she  says.     It  is  this  : 

In  Jesus'  name  we  sit  at  meat. 

May  good  God  bless  the  food  we  eat. 

When  the  repast  is  finished,  the  same  little  one  returns 
thanks  in  another  verse  to  the  Giver  of  all  good  things. 

Then  every  boy  and  girl  shakes  hands  with  mother  and 
father,  and  saj^s,  "  Tack  for  maten,"  "Thanks  for  the  food," 
and  you  do  the  same  as  well  as  j'ou  can. 

We  will  suppose  it  is  summer-time,  and  in  the  country, 
and  that  after  breakfast  the  boys  take  you  out  to  the  pasture. 
Here  the  horses  and  colts  come  running  to  you,  stretch  their 
necks  over  the  fence,  and  rub  their  noses  on  your  shoulder. 
The  sheep  say,  "Good  morning!"  by  rubbing  their  thick, 
woolly  sides  against  you,  and  the  great  oxen  lying  in  the 
shade  give  you  a  friendly  wink  now  and  again  with  their  big 
brown  eyes. 

Ever3^  animal  is  tame  and  gentle  ;  and  you  do  not  have 


SWEDB)N.  55 

to  wonder  long  why  this  is,  for  you  find  that  in  Sweden  the 
bo5^s  never  throw  stones  at  beast  or  bird,  and  never  scare  or 
torment  them  in  any  way.  They  feed  and  pat  them,  and 
make  much  of  them  instead. 

Animals,  after  all,  have  much  the  same  feelings  as  we; 
they  know  their  friends,  and  love  them. 

After  supper  the  sun  is  still  high  in  the  heavens,  and  at 
nine  o'clock,  when  you  go  to  bed,  it  is  still  shining  brightly  as 
it  swings  low  along  the  horizon. 

If  you  wake  up  at  midnight  and  go  to  the  window,  you 
behold  the  whole  northern  sky  glowing  with  red  and  yellow 
hues.  Whether  it  is  sunset  or  sunrise  it  is  hard  to  say,  for 
the  heavens  shine  all  through  the  short  summer  nights. 

Indeed,  were  you  to  travel  to  the  north  of  Sweden,  you 
would  behold  the  sun  shining  upon  you  directly  over  the 
North  Pole  at  midnight,  and  you  might  remain  a  month 
without  ever  once  seeing  it  set  beneath  the  horizon.  It  would 
take  too  long  here  to  tell  you  the  reason  of  this,  but  it  is  all 
explained  in  your  geograph}^ 

On  Midsummer's  eve,  which  in  Sweden  is  the  23d  of  June, 
the  boys  and  girls  all  drive  into  the  nearest  village,  and  you 
will  surely  go  with  them.  You  drive  in  a  great,  long  hay- 
cart  thickly  trimmed  all  round  with  the  bright  green  boughs 
of  the  birch.  The  horses  are  decked  out  with  birch,  too,  and 
the  driver  sits  in  a  green  birch  bower.  How  jolly  it  is  driving 
along  the  pretty  country  lanes, —  twenty  or  thirty  of  you 
young  folks  on  the  hay, — peeping  out  through  the  boughs 
and  laughing  and  singing  ! 

You  drive  up  to  the  village  green.  Here  are  youths  and 
maidens  in  plenty.  You  wonder  where  they  all  could  have 
come  from  in  such  a  sparsely  settled  country. 

In  the  middle  of  the  square  you  see  a  May-pole  sixty 
feet  high.  This  is  trimmed  with  verdant  birch  leaves,  while 
garlands  and  wreaths  of  flowers  hang  from  its  cross-trees. 
The  blue  and  yellow  flag  of  Sweden  is  flying  from  the  top. 
At  the  foot  of  the  pole  is  a  fiddler,  scraping  away  for  dear 
life,  and  at  his  side  a  fellow  pulling  away  on  an  accordion. 


56  SWEDEN. 

The  boys  and  girls  are  all  dancing  round  the  May-pole. 
They  are  happy  and  thankful  for  the  glorious  summer-time, 
the  earth  all  green  again,  the  long  days  and  the  bright  nights 
with  no  darkness  anywhere.  So  they  dance  all  through  the 
night,  which  is  no  night  after  all  —  only  a  beautiful,  luminous 
twilight  that  fills  the  short  space  between  the  rosy  lips  of 
sunset  and  sunrise. 

Thus  have  their  fathers  and  mothers  and  grandfathers  and 
grandmothers  danced  before  them  on  this  same  bright  eve  for 
hundreds  and  hundreds  of  years  —  yes,  so  far  back  in  time 
that  history  does  not  know  when  the  custom  began. 

If  you  like  winter,  you  will  surely  be  pleased  with  Sweden. 
Here  are  cold,  snow  and  ice  enough  to  satisfy  anybody.  So 
long  the  winter  is,  too  !  Four  or  five  months  of  it  at  least 
you  may  be  sure  of.  Here  3'ou  can  enjoy  all  your  winter 
sports  to  perfection  ;  build  snow-forts  and  snow-men,  snowball 
your  comrades,  coast  and  skate,  go  on  sleigh-rides,  or  skim 
the  frozen  lakes  on  ice-yachts. 

There  are  other  winter  sports  peculiarly  Scandinavian. 
Here  you  can  learn  how  to  slip  over  the  untrodden  snow  fields 
and  through  the  deep,  dark  northern  forests  on  "skidor,"  or 
skees  as  they  are  sometimes  called.  These  skidor,  or  snow- 
skates,  are  thin  straps  of  wood  six  to  nine  feet  long,  about 
four  inches  in  width,  and  turned  up  on  the  front  end  like  the 
runners  of  a  sled. 

Your  feet  are  bound  to  the  middle  of  them  in  such  a  way 
that  while  the  toes  and  ball  of  the  foot  are  fast,  the  heel  is  free 
to  move  up  and  down.  With  a  staff  in  your  hand  to  help 
you  up  the  hills  and  aid  you  in  steering  down  them  j^ou  may 
glide  over  the  open  country  at  the  rate  of  six  or  eight  miles 
an  hour. 

Then  the  "  spark- stotting  "  or  "kicker!"  I  know  you 
will  like  that.  It  is  the  lightest  sort  of  a  frame  sled.  Two 
upright  standards  rise  some  three  feet  high  from  the  back  end 
of  the  framework,  and  behind  these  the  runners  —  nothing 
else,  mind,  only  the  two  runners  —  extend  backward  five  or 
six  feet.     You  grasp  the  top  of  the  standards,  one  with  each 


SWEDEN.  57 

hand,  stand  on  one  foot  on  one  of  the  runners,  and  with 
your  disengaged  foot  kick  your  kicker  and  yourself  over  the 
hard-trodden  snow  highways  as  fast  as  an  ordinary  horse  jogs 
along. 

The  kicks  should  be  long,  strong,  sweeping  and  regular. 
They  are  always  delivered  between  the  runners,  and  when  one 
leg  is  tired  you  step  over  upon  the  other  runner,  and  kick  with 
the  other  leg.  You  must  have  a  steel  plate  strapped  on  to 
the  ball  of  each  foot,  and  from  this  plate  should  project  three 
or  four  sharp  calks,  like  those  the  blacksmith  welds  into 
horseshoes  in  winter. 

The  only  secret  you  have  to  learn  in  order  to  become  an 
accomplished  rider  on  your  kicker  is  to  touch  the  snow  first 
with  the  heel  of  your  boot  as  in  walking,  and  then  instantly 
kick,  a  swinging  backward  stroke,  not  with  your  toes  only, 
but  with  the  whole  flat  of  your  foot. 

You  will  find  the  kicker  a  pleasant  and  useful  "youth's 
companion."  Its  lightness  makes  it  the  velocipede  of  sleds. 
It  costs  but  a  trifle  in  comparison  to  a  velocipede,  and  on  it 
you  may  transport  without  difficulty  your  travelling-bag  and 
knapsack,  your  skates  and  luncheon,  and  other  packages 
sufficient  to  make  you  comfortable  for  a  week. 

Another  winter  sport  is  sailing  on  skates.  The  Swedish 
sail  is  in  form  like  a  capital  letter  A  with  the  top  cut  off. 
You  place  the  cross-bar  over  your  shoulder  to  windward,  and 
with  a  good  breeze  glide  away  over  the  ice  at  the  rate  of  a 
mile  in  two  minutes. 

You  can  not  only  sail  before  the  wind,  but  you,  may  glide 
to  and  fro  across  the  lake  with  wind  abeam,  or  drawing  your 
sail  taut  and  leaning  well  against  the  breeze,  tack  to  windward 
as  gallantly  as  the  fleetest  yacht. 

A  merry  sight,  I  am  sure  you  will  find  it,  of  a  December 
noon  on  the  frozen  fiord.  The  glittering  ice  rings  with  the 
steel  shoes  of  the  skaters,  gliding  about  like  the  many-colored 
particles  in  a  kaleidoscope.  In  and  out  among  them  skim 
the  white  sails  of  the  skate-sailors.  Along  the  snowy  high- 
ways come  the  kickers,  while  down  the  white  hillsides  shoot 


58  SWEDEN. 

the  skid-runens,  swiftly  as  the  swoop  of  the  eagle.  The  low- 
running  sun  with  level  rays  brightly  illumines  the  whole 
wintry  scene,  and  all  the  air  is  filled  with  the  laughter  and 
happy  voices  of  youth  at  play. 

But  short  are  the  wintr>^  days.  At  Stockholm  they  are, 
in  December,  only  six  hours  long,  or  rather  short ;  and  in  the 
far  north  it  is  night  the  whole  twenty-four  hours  day  after 
(lay  —  if  night  can  be  called  day  —  for  over  a  month.  Now 
you  have  to  pay  for  the  long  days  and  luminous  nights  of 
summer. 

But  the  very  darkest  of  the  year  the  Swedes  make  bright 
with  the  festivities  of  merry  Christmas.  Christmas  time  in 
Sweden  means  more  than  a  day.  The  merrymaking  is  kept 
up  for  a  fortnight ;  indeed,  out  in  the  country  it  is  fully  three 
weeks  before  all  the  celebrations  are  over.  Such  visiting  and 
dancing  and  dining  and  present-making  I  really  believe  exist 
nowhere  in  the  world  outside  of  Sweden. 

First  of  all  comes  Christmas  eve.  There  is  a  Christmas- 
tree  of  course,  and  how  brightly  it  gleams  with  myriad  tapers  ! 
But  the  presents  are  not  hung  on  the  tree.  They  are  all  too 
many  for  that,  and  the  ser\'ants  have  been  bringing  them  in 
for  a  long  time  by  the  basketful. 

The  family  and  guests  sit  round  the  big  table  in  the  parlor. 
The  father  of  the  family  takes  up  the  presents  one  by  one. 
All  are  carefully  wrapped  up  in  many  thicknesses  of  brown 
paper,  tied  and  sealed.  The  father  reads  the  name  of  the 
lucky  recipient ;  then  some  funny  and  pat  verse  of  poetry 
written  on  the  wrapper,  and  then  hands  over  the  gift  amid 
much  good-natured  banter. 

If  you  have  been  a  polite,  good-natured  lad  all  summer 
and  fall,  I  will  warrant  you  fifty  Christmas  presents  at  the 
very  least,  and  more  likely  you  will  get  a  hundred. 

Now  comes  the  "long  dance,"  in  which  the  young  folks 
all  join  hands,  form  a  line,  and  go  scampering  through  all  the 
rooms  in  the  house,  while  grandma  at  the  piano  plays  her 
liveliest  old-time  music.  Then  all  sit  down  to  a  bountiful 
supper  of  rice  porridge,  ' '  lut-fisk  "  —  a  ling  leached  in  ashes  — 


SWEDEN. 


59 


and  roast  goose.     Then  to  bed  and  to  dream  it  all  over  again. 

Next  day,  when  you  are  jerking  along  home  on  your 
kicker  from  the  skating  pond,  you  will  see  a  sheaf  of  grain  on 
top  of  a  pole  set  up  in  the  dooryard  of  every  farmer's  house 
you  pass. 

"  Well,  what  does  this  mean  ?  "  you  ask  3'our  comrades. 

"Oh,  that  is  for  the  birds,  the  little  wild  birds.  They 
must  have  a  merry  Christmas,  too,  you  know." 

Yes,  my  boy,  this  is  the  way  they  treat  even  the  little  wild 
birds  in  good  old  Sweden.  You  will  scarcely  find  a  farmer  in 
all  the  land  who  will  sit  down  to  a  Christmas  dinner  with  his 
loved  ones  in  the  light  and  warmth  within  doors  till  he  has 
first  raised  aloft  a  Christmas  dinner  for  the  little  feathered 
wild  guests  in  the  cold  and  snow  without. 

W.  W.  Thomas,  Jr. 


Life   in   Norway. 

It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  Norway  is  a  country  remote 
from  the  world,  whose  chief  claim  to  existence  is  that  it  is  a 
romantic  pleasure-ground.  Norway  is  in  fact  easily  acces- 
sible. Railways  penetrate  it  from  Sweden,  extending  to  the 
North  Sea  ;  and  steamboat  lines  ph'  regularly  between  its 
ports  and  those  of  Denmark,  Great  Britain  and  the  United 
States. 

Christiania,  its  capital,  nestling  among  pine-clad  hills  at 
the  head  of  a  romantic  fiord  or  inlet  which  is  sixty  miles  long, 
is  a  beautiful  city  of  a  hundred  thousand  people,  well  built, 
with  broad  streets  laid  out  at  right  angles,  and  with  stores 
and  hotels  which  would  do  credit  to  any  capital. 

The  people  of  Christiania  are  exceedingly  well  educated, 
refined  and  hospitable,  very  fond  of  their  city  and  country, 
and  much  given  to  social  pleasures  and  music. 

The  Christiania  police  seem  to  have  very  little  to  do  except 
to  warn  people  politely  not  to  violate  the  city  ordinance  for- 
bidding people  to  stand  and  talk  on  the  sidewalk,  and  to  arrest 
an  occasional  drunkard. 

Railways  are  comparatively  few  in  Norway,  owing  to  the 
cost  of  construction  in  a  mountainous  country,  and  to  the 
disinclination  of  the  people  to  speculative  enterprise.  The 
highways,  however,  are  excellent,  and  one  may  "  travel  post  " 
almost  anywhere  in  a  public  carriole  or  post-chaise.  The 
post  stations  are  seven  miles  apart,  and  the  traveller  changes 
horse  and  carriage  at  each  one  of  these  stations.  In  certain 
remote  country  districts  there  are  no  inns ;  and  here  the 
traveller  must  lodge  with  the  nearest  farmer  or  priest.  These 
people  are  so  hospitable  that  they  occasionally  refuse  to  take 
pay,  and  invite  the  traveller  to  remain  with  them  as  long  as  he 
will  ;  but  the  fare  is  often  primitive.  I  have  frequently  found, 
in   summer,    that   a   farmer's   larder   contained   nothing   but 


LIFE   IN   NORWAY.  63 

thick  sour  milk  and  rye  bread,  with  sweet  milk  to  drink. 
The  sour  milk  is  kept  in  a  large,  shallow  tub,  which  at  meal 
time  is  placed  upon  the  table.  Each  member  of  the  family 
marks  off  with  his  spoon  as  much  as  he  thinks  he  can  eat. 
Each  covers  his  or  her  portion  with  sugar,  and  all  fall  to 
eagerly,  as  if  it  were  the  daintiest  dish  in  the  world. 

The  people  of  the  cities  dress  as  do  people  in  England  or 
America.  In  the  country  the  women  wear  short,  full  woollen 
skirts,  with  bright-colored  bodices  decked  with  bangles,  while 
the  men  look  decidedly  odd  in  extremely  short  cloth  jackets 
with  bright  buttons,  and  trousers  which  ascend  nearly  to  the 
armpits. 

The  Norwegian  people  are  strongly  inclined  toward  repub- 
lican political  principles,  and  greet  the  King  of  Sweden  and 
Norway  somewhat  coldly  on  his  rare  visits  to  their  country. 
The  king  is  supposed  to  spend  one-third  of  his  time  in 
Norway,  but  he  certainly  does  not  do  so.  He  has  about  ten 
thousand  dollars  a  year  from  the  Norwegian  revenues,  and  it 
is  not  sui-prising  that  the  great  majority  of  the  people  of 
Norway  think  they  could  get  on  just  as  well  without  him. 

The  people  celebrate  the  17th  of  May,  the  anniversary  of 
their  separation  from  Denmark,  much  as  we  celebrate  the  4th 
of  July — with  cannon-firing,  fireworks  and  processions,  but 
without  the  firecrackers. 

The  Christmas  and  New  Year's  observances  are  not  unlike 
those  in  other  northern  countries  ;  but  the  Norwegians  have  a 
peculiar  and  beautiful  Christmas  custom,  which  is  universal 
among  them,  of  hanging  out  small  sheaves  of  corn  for  the 
birds. 

Skating,  in  the  rinks  and  on  the  fiord,  is  a  popular  winter 
amusement,  though  the  ice  of  the  fiord  is  sometimes  dangerous 
on  account  of  the  cuttings  made  by  fishermen.  Snow-shoeing, 
upon  shoes  frequently  ten  feet  in  length,  is  also  a  favorite 
diversion,  and  some  wonderful  tobogganing  is  done  just  out- 
side the  capital. 

To  the  summit  of  a  mountain  close  by  the  city  great  sleds 
are  drawn  by  horses.     Then  each  sled,  laden  with  a  dozen 


64  LIFE    IN    NORWAY. 

people  or  more,  comes  coasting  down  the  mountain  with 
terrific  speed. 

One  Norwegian  custom  is  very  objectionable  to  foreigners  — 
the  practice  of  maintaining  a  suffocating  heat  in  the  dwellings, 
and  excluding  the  fresh  air  as  completely  as  possible. 

In  April  the  winter  vanishes  as  if  by  magic.  The  snow 
disappears,  and  vegetation  springs  up  at  a  bound.  The 
people  soon  betake  themselves  to  summer  quarters  in  the 
country,  and  the  business  streets  of  the  city  are  almost 
deserted.  Another  round  of  pleasure  begins  —  with  picnics, 
fishing,  boating,  bathing,  and  out-of-door  diversions  of  all 
sorts.  The  Norwegian  forests,  which  are  chiefly  of  pine 
brightened  with  birch,  are  full  of  the  most  beautiful  of  wild 
flowers.  Many  varieties  which  with  us  grow  only  when  cul- 
tivated, such  as  the  lily  of  the  valley  and  sweet  violets,  grow 
wild  in  these  Norwegian  woods.  Later  there  is  a  profusion  of 
wild  berries,  and  always  a  chorus  of  birds. 

Bathing  is  a  little  dangerous  in  the  fiords  for  any  but  good 
swimmers.  The  depth  of  the  waters  is  great,  and  the  descent 
of  the  shores  abrupt.  At  times,  too,  there  is  in  the  water  a 
sort  of  jellyfish  which  impregnates  it  with  a  poison  as  stinging 
to  the  skin  as  the  nettle. 

The  summer  residences  are  generally  provided  with  bath- 
houses which  have  cages  to  keep  the  swimmer  in  and  the 
jellyfish  out.  Boating,  too,  is  somewhat  perilous  on  account 
of  the  frequency  of  squalls. 

The  summer  lasts  from  May  until  October,  and  is  a  most 
delightful  season.  From  May  to  September  lamps  are  dis- 
pensed with,  and  in  the  last  half  of  June  one  may  read  a 
newspaper  in  Christiania  at  midnight  by  daylight.  The  birds 
seem  never  to  sleep  at  this  period ;  they  are  as  lively  at 
midnight  as  at  noon. 

Great  fortunes  are  unknown  in  Norway.  The  people  do 
not  fully  develop  their  mineral  industries.  The  enterprising 
Norwegian's  chief  desire  seems  to  be  to  get  to  America. 
Many  intend  to  return  to  Norway  when  their  fortunes  are 
improved,  but  few  ever  do  .so.  William  H.   Cory. 


THE    AMERICAN    TROPICS. 


cenes    in    Quito. 


An  odd  old  City  in  the  Andes. 


To  reach  Quito  from  the  sea  one  must  ride  several  days  on 
muleback.  The  highway  to  the  capital  is  not  yet  completed 
and  only  a  bridle-path  crosses  the  breast  of  Chimborazo  at  a 
height  of  fourteen  thousand  feet,  so  that  the  journey  is  one  of 
great  hardship  and  discomfort.  Freight  for  the  interior  of 
Ecuador  is  carried  upon  the  backs  of  mules  or  men,  who  travel 
twelve  or  fourteen  hours  a  day,  and  take  two  or  three  weeks 
for  the  journey. 

There  are  no  hotels,  but  only  filthy  lodging-houses,  in 
which  a  neat  and  ner\'ous  traveller  would,  be  very  uncomfort- 
able. There  was  no  telegraph  line  until  a  few  years  ago,  and 
it  was  useless  most  of  the  time  at  first,  for  the  people  cut  down 
the  poles  for  firewood,  and  stole  the  wire  to  repair  their 
harnesses  and  panniers  with. 

But  having  once  reached  the  capital  of  the  Incas,  one  finds 
himself  rewarded  for  his  hardship  and  exposure,  for  the 
scenery  is  grander  than  can  be  found  elsewhere,  and  the 
ancient  city  is  so  quaint  and  queer  that  it  seems  like  entering 
another  world. 

Quito  is  at  least  two  hundred  years  behind  the  times  in 
almost  every  feature  of  civilization.  There  are  no  news- 
papers, and  only  one  printing-office,  which  is  owned  and 
conducted  by  the  government  for  the  publication  of  official 
documents.  It  is  so  far  removed  from  the  rest  of  the  world 
that  the  inhabitants  seldom  leave  it,  and  people  from  the 
outside  do  not  often  go  there. 

The  city  is  without  a  decent  hotel,  although  there  are 
forty  or  fifty  thousand  inhabitants,  and  strangers  who  want  to 
be  comfortable  are  compelled  to  stop  with  merchants,  officials, 
or  others  to  whom  they  have  letters  of  introduction. 

There  is  not  a  carriage  or  a  wagon  in  the  place,  and  only 
a  few  carts  of  the  most  primitive  pattern,  which  look  like  the 


68  AN    ODD    OLD    CITY    IN    THE    ANDES. 

pictures  one  sees  in  the  illustrated  Bibles  of  those  used  in  the 
time  of  Moses. 

The  history  of  Quito  has  never  been  written,  but  the 
traditions  make  it  as  old  as  Jerusalem  or  Damascus.  The 
Incas  have  traditions  of  a  mighty  nation  called  the  Quitos, 
who  lived  there  before  their  fathers  came,  but  of  whom  the 
world  has  no  other  knowledge.  All  we  know  is  that  Pizarro 
found  a  magnificent  capital  of  a  mighty  empire,  extending 
three  thousand  miles,  and  as  thickly  settled  as  China  or  the 
interior  of  Europe,  with  beautiful  palaces  of  stone,  full  of  gold 
and  silver  and  gems  ;  but  it  was  all  destroyed. 

The  walls  of  the  palace  of  Atahualpa,  the  last  of  the  Incas, 
whose  pathetic  story  Prescott  has  told  in  "The  Conquest  of 
Peru,"  now  enclose  a  prison,  and  a  gloomy  convent  stands 
upon  the  site  of  the  famous  Temple  of  the  Sun. 

Decay  and  dilapidation,  poverty  and  ignorance,  filth  and 
depravity  are  the  most  conspicuous  features  of  life  in  Quito, 
but  the  people  are  as  vain  and  proud  as  if  they  had  all  the 
good  things  of  the  world,  and  think  they  have  a  grander  city 
than  London  or  New  York.  They  know  no  better,  and 
perhaps  it  is  well  that  they  do  not.  The  only  portion  of  the 
population  who  seem  to  be  prosperous  consists  of  the  buzzards, 
the  scavengers  of  the  town,  and  as  all  the  filth  and  refuse 
from  the  houses  is  pitched  into  the  streets,  they  have  plenty 
to  do. 

The  men  stand  idly  around  the  street  corners,  wrapped  in 
their  ponchos,  for  it  is  cool  in  the  shade,  and  repulsive-looking 
beggars  reach  out  their  hands  for  alms  to  those  who  pass  by. 
The  women  are  seldom  seen  in  the  streets  except  on  feast-days 
or  early  in  the  morning  when  they  go  to  mass,  and  then  they 
keep  their  faces  so  covered  that  it  is  impossible  to  tell  one 
from  another. 

Soldiers  are  numerous,  usually  barefooted,  and  wearing 
uniforms  of  ordinary  white  cotton  sheeting.  Peons  half- 
naked,  and  children  entirely  so,  sleep  or  play  in  the  sun,  and 
Indian  women  clad  in  sombre  black  glide  to  and  fro  with 
their  mantas  drawn  over  their  heads,  or  sit  in  the    market- 


AN    ODD    OLD    CITY    IN    THE    ANDES.  69 

place  selling  fruits  and  vegetables.  Peddlers  are  numerous, 
and  their  shrill  cries  afford  strangers  amusement . 

Water-carriers  are  always  to  be  seen  with  great  jars  of 
clay,  holding  half  a  barrel,  on  their  backs,  going  to  and  from 
the  fountain  in  the  plaza.  There  are  no  pipes  or  wells  to 
supply  the  houses,  and  all  the  water  used  by  the  families  has 
to  be  brought  by  the  servants,  or  purchased  from  the  public 
carriers  at  so  much  a  gallon. 

The  city  is  traversed  by  deep  ravines  that  are  arched  over 
with  heavy  masonry,  on  which  the  houses  rest.  All  the 
streets  are  narrow,  and  carriages  could  scarcely  pass  upon 
them  if  there  were  any.  The  sidewalks  are  in  proportion  to 
the  streets,  and  one  wonders  what  they  were  made  for,  as  two 
people  could  not  possibly  go  abreast  or  pass  each  other  upon 
them. 

It  is  even  difficult  for  one  man  to  keep  both  feet  upon  the 
sidewalk  without  rubbing  the  whitewash  off  the  walls  of  the 
houses,  and  the  inhabitants,  who  are  never  guilty  of  any 
unnecessary  exertion,  have  abandoned  the  effort,  and  walk  in 
the  road.  The  roofs  of  the  houses,  which  are  made  of  curved 
tiles,  like  sewer  pipes  cut  lengthwise,  reach  over  the  pave- 
ments two  or  three  feet,  and  water-spouts  project  still  farther.. 

Few  of  the  houses  have  windows  looking  upon  the  street 
on  the  ground  floor,  but  are  lighted  from  the  inner  courts. 
The  second-story  windows  open  upon  balconies,  where  the 
ladies  spend  a  good  part  of  their  time  watching  the  passers-by 
and  chatting  with  their  neighbors. 

Many  of  the  houses,  particularly  those  in  the  centre  of  the 
city,  are  large,  and  were  once  furnished  with  luxury  and 
elegance,  but  are  no  longer  so.  The  walls  are  thick,  and  the 
rooms  are  large.  The  lower  floors  are  occupied  by  the 
servants  and  as  stables  for  the  horses  and  cattle,  while  the 
family  live  in  the  rooms  above. 

There  is  only  one  entrance,  through  which  everybody  and 
everything  that  enters  the  house  must  go,  and  at  night  it  is 
closed  with  great  oaken  doors  securely  barred.  There  is  no 
gas,  but  a  law  requires  each  householder  to  hang  a  lantern 


70 


AN    ODD    OLD    CITY    IN    THE    ANDES. 


over  his  door  with  a  lighted  candle  in  it.  When  the  candles 
burn  out  at  ten  or  eleven  o'clock  the  streets  are  totally  dark. 
The  policemen  carry  lanterns  and  long  pikes,  and  when  the 
clocks  strike  the  hours  they  call  out,  "  Sereno  !  Sereno  !  " 
which  means  that  "all  is  well."  Therefore,  the  policemen 
are  called  "  Serenos." 

There  are  no  fixed  prices  for  anything  in  the  stores.  If 
you  ask  the  cost  of  an  article  the  merchant  will  reply,  "  How 
much  will  you  give  for  it  ?  "  If  you  name  a  sum  he  will  then 
ask  twice  or  three  times  as  much  as  you  offer,  and  ' '  negotio  ' ' 
with  you.  The  women  in  the  market  will  sell  nothing  by 
wholesale.  If  potatoes  are  a  medio,  six  cents,  a  pound,  every 
pound  will  be  weighed  out  separately,  no  matter  whether  you 
buy  two  pounds  or  a  bushel. 

There  is  no  money  smaller  than  the  quartillo,  three  cents, 
so  the  change  is  made  in  loaves  of  bread.  On  his  way  to 
market  the  buyer  stops  at  the  baker's  and  fills  his  basket  with 
bread  to  make  change  with,  so  many  rolls  to  the  penny. 
Very  few  people  have  money,  and  those  who  have  lack 
confidence  in  their  neighbors,  so  everything  has  to  be  paid  for 
in  advance. 

If  you  go  to  a  market-woman  and  tell  her  you  want  such 
and  such  vegetables,  she  asks  for  your  money.  When  you 
give  it  to  her  she  hands  you  what  you  have  bought.  If  you 
order  a  coat  at  the  tailor's  or  boots  at  the  shoemaker's,  you 
have  to  pay  for  them  in  advance,  for  they  may  not  have  the 
means  to  get  the  materials  at  the  wholesale  store,  and  have 
no  credit.  The  landlord  at  the  hotel  or  at  the  boarding- 
house  where  you  are  staying,  comes  around  every  morning 
before  he  goes  to  market  and  asks  you  to  pay  your  board  for 
the  day.     Otherwise  he  could  not  buy  food. 

At  the  entrances  of  most  of  the  houses  are  effigies  of  saints 
with  candles  burning  before  them,  and  all  who  enter  must 
take  off  their  hats  and  cross  themselves.  Service  is  going  on 
in  the  churches  almost  continuously,  and  the  air  is  filled  with 
the  clangor  of  bells  from  morning  till  night.  No  lady  of 
quality  goes  to  church  without  a  ser^-ant  following  her,  who 


AN    ODD    OLD    CITY    IN    THE    ANDES.  Jl 

carries  her  prayer  rug.  There  are  no  pews  nor  seats  in  the 
churches,  but  the  floors  are  marked  off  in  squares,  which  are 
rented  like  sittings.  The  servant  laj-s  the  prayer  rug  down, 
the  lady  kneels  upon  it  during  her  devotions,  and  at  the  close 
of  the  service  the  servant  comes  again  to  take  it  away. 

Serv-ants  always  go  in  droves.  When  5^ou  hire  a  cook 
you  take  her  husband  and  the  rest  of  her  family  to  board,  and 
they  bring  their  dogs  and  rabbits,  their  pigs,  their  chickens 
and  all  their  other  property  with  them.  The  husband  may 
be  a  peddler  or  a  blacksmith,  or  he  may  be  a  soldier,  but  he 
continues  to  live  with  his  wife  when  she  goes  out  to  servnce. 
The  children  of  the  family  may  be  used  for  light  duties,  such 
as  going  on  errands  or  watching  the  baby,  and  no  extra  pay 
is  expected  ;  but  for  every  servant  you  hire  you  may  depend 
upon  having  a  dozen  or  more  extra  mouths  to  feed. 

Sometimes  the  cook's  relatives  come  to  visit  her,  often  half 
a  dozen  men,  women  and  children,  and  stay  a  week  or  two. 
They  also  must  be  fed  and  taken  care  of,  but  are  not  so  much 
trouble  and  expense  as  it  might  seem,  for  they  are  satisfied 
with  beans,  corn  bread  and  a  little  potato  soup  to  eat,  and 
sleep  on  the  floor  of  the  kitchen,  or  on  the  straw  in  the  stable. 

There  is  not  a  stove  or  a  chimney  in  all  Quito.  The 
weather  is  seldom  cold  enough  to  require  a  fire  for  heating 
purposes,  and  all  the  cooking  is  done  with  charcoal  on  a  sort 
of  shelf  like  a  blacksmith's  forge.  There  must  be  a  different 
fire  for  every  pot  or  kettle,  and  generally  two  persons  to 
attend  them,  one  with  a  pair  of  bellows  and  the  other  to  keep 
the  pots  from  tipping  over,  for  they  are  made  with  rounded 
bottoms  like  a  ginger-beer  bottle.  No  laundr}'  work  is  ever 
done  in  the  house,  but  all  the  soiled  clothes  are  taken  to  the 
nearest  brook,  washed  in  the  cold  running  water  and  spread 
upon  the  stones  to  dry  in  the  sun. 

Very  little  water  is  used  for  drinking,  for  bathing,  or  for 
laundr}^  purposes.  There  is  a  national  prejudice  against  it. 
The  people  have  a  notion  that  water  is  unwholesome  ;  that  it 
causes  dyspepsia  if  too  much  is  taken  into  the  stomach,  and 
that  a  fever  will  result  from  too  free  use  of  it  upon  the  skin. 


72  AN    ODD    OLD    CITY    IN    THE    ANDES. 

Women  seldom  wash  their  faces,  but  wipe  them  with 
cloths,  and  then  spread  on  a  sort  of  plaster  made  of  magnesia 
and  the  whites  of  eggs.  When  a  person  arrives  from  a 
journey,  particularly  if  he  has  come  from  a  lower  to  a  higher 
altitude,  he  will  not  wash  his  face  for  several  days  for  fear 
that  the  opening  of  the  pores  of  his  skin  will  result  in  cold  and 
fever. 

There  are  many  doctors  in  Quito,  and  some  of  them  are 
men  of  skill.  There  are  drug  stores,  also,  but  when  aou  go 
to  one  of  them  for  medicine  you  are  expected  to  take  with  j-ou 
a  bottle  or  a  cup,  or  something  else  to  bring  it  home  in.  The 
druggist  has  no  stock  of  bottles,  and  never  furnishes  them  to 
his  customers.  The  reason  for  this  is  that  all  bottles  have  to 
be  brought  up  the  mountains  from  two  to  three  weeks' 
journey  on  the  backs  of  men,  and  are  therefore  very  expen- 
sive. 

The  Indians  constitute  the  laboring  population,  and  they 
carry  all  their  burdens  on  their  backs.  They  do  not  seem  to 
have  any  strength  in  their  arms.  A  broad  strap  is  passed 
around  the  forehead  to  sustain  the  load,  and  another  around 
the  shoulders.  They  generally  take  a  slow  trot  when  on  a 
journey,  which  they  can  keep  up  for  hours  without  tiring, 
even  with  a  hundred  pounds  on  their  backs. 

They  never  laugh  nor  sing,  have  no  sports,  no  songs,  no 
tales,  but  are  sullen,  morose,  stupid,  and  submissive  to  all 
sorts  of  cruelty  and  oppression.  The  Spaniards  have  been 
hard  masters,  and  three  hundred  and  fifty  5^ears  of  cruel 
persecution  and  oppression  have  crushed  out  the  spirit  of  the 
poor  son  of  the  Inca,  so  that  he  no  longer  smiles. 

W.  E.  Curtis. 


Carnival   in   Lima. 

The  merry  season  of  Carnival  is  prepared  for  b}-  all 
Peruvians,  several  weeks  in  advance  of  the  eventful  period. 
Numberless  cascarones,  which  are  hollow  shells,  generally 
made  of  stearine  or  wax  molded  in  forms  of  tiny  cannon, 
bunches  of  grapes,  fish,  and  other  articles,  are  filled  with 
diluted  Florida  water. 

The  cook  saves  all  egg-shells  whole,  by  blowing  their 
contents  out  for  culinary  purposes,  and  then  fills  them  with 
scented  water. 

In  many  families  bushels  of  cascarones  are  laid  away  for 
Carnival  w^arfare,  and  a  thriving  trade  is  worked  up  each 
year  by  manufacturers  and  venders  of  the  missiles  thrown  in 
the  three  days  given  over  to  the  sports  and  license  of  the 
season.  The  Sunday  previous  to  Ash  Wednesday  opens 
the  Carnival,  and  the  exercises  begin  on  that  day  soon  after 
morning  mass. 

About  noon  every  house  seems  converted  into  a  fortress, 
the  inmates  constituting  the  belligerents.  Senoras,  senoritas 
and  children  hiding  on  balconies,  peering  out  from  behind 
screens,  darting  suddenly  from  all  manner  of  strange  places 
on  the  roofs,  pelt  cascarones  at  the  passers-by,  and  the  sticky 
pieces  of  shell,  fastening  themselves  upon  the  face,  hair  and 
clothing  of  the  victims,  make  them  look  like  animated  pieces 
of  papier-mache. 

The  sweetness  of  the  accompanying  showers  of  delicate 
perfume  hardly  compensates  for  the  rudeness.  The  cautious 
pedestrian,  during  Carnival,  takes  the  middle  of  the  street, 
and  with  an  umbrella  off  the  spring,  ready  to  fly  open  in  any 
direction,  thinks  himself  well  protected. 

But  suddenh'  some  powerful  sj-ringe  throws  out  a  stream 
of  water  from  an  unsuspected  source,  and  the  sparkling 
drops  fall    around   him  in  showers.     His   scowls    and   other 


Carnival    Fun    in    Lima. 


CARNIVAL    IN    LIMA.  75 

demonstrations  of  displeasure  avail  nothing,  and  he  has  onl}- 
to  pass  on  to  encounter,  perhaps,  a  still  more  formidable 
drenching. 

This  amusing  sport  forms  itself  into  a  kind  of  thermometer, 
measuring  the  heat  of  temper  in  different  individuals.  The 
natives  enjo}^  the  fun  thoroughly,  running  the  gauntlet  with 
unequalled  skill,  pelting  back  their  tantalizing  tormentors, 
when  they  get  a  chance,  and,  with  their  spirits  on  the 
crescendo,  reach  a  height  of  enjoyment  a  less  excitable 
people  can  hardly  understand. 

We  were  sitting  in  our  hall  by  an  open  door  one  evening 
when  the  Carnival  had  just  begun,  as  we  felt  the  need  of  a 
little  fresh  air  after  the  heat  of  the  da^s  and  were  trusting 
to  luck  for  our  protection,  when  several  friends  gathered 
round  us.  I  ought  to  explain  that  any  gentleman,  whether 
acquaintance  or  stranger,  is  fair  game  for  any  lady  during 
this  season.  Almost  before  we  were  aware  of  it,  we  were 
objectivel}^  engaged  in  the  Carnival. 

We  were  reluctant  to  defend  ourselves,  as  it  was  the 
Sabbath,  and  made  a  retreat  as  quickly  as  possible,  thor- 
oughly perfumed  with  Florida  water  administered  by  strangers 
passing,  as  well  as  by  friends  standing  near. 

Very  early  next  morning  our  j^oung  people  awoke  in  a 
high  state  of  excitement  over  the  expected  festivities. 
Enough  water  lay  secure  in  cascarones  in  our  hou.se  to  cause 
a  deluge  on  a  small  scale. 

I  soon  saw  that  a  general  demoralization  of  the  family 
had  taken  place,  and  that  our  patience  would  have  to  be 
maintained  through  much  tribulation.  Before  the  hour  for 
breakfast  the  clothing  of  each  child  was  thoroughly  soaked, 
and  soon  after  breakfast  they  were  saturated  again. 

At  eleven  o'clock  this  wild  sport  was,  by  an  accident  of 
the  play,  shifted  to  a  neighboring  native  house,  all  the 
family  taking  an  active  part.  The  throwing  of  water  was 
not  confined  to  the  garden  ;  rooms  handsomely  furnished, 
and  halls  richly  carpeted,  were  thrown  open  regardless  of  the 
damage  that  would  result  from  the  play. 


76  CARNIVAI,    IN    LIMA. 

The  actors,  dressed  in  bathing  costumes,  employed  their 
skill  and  inventive  faculties  for  many  an  hour,  and  surprised 
each  other  with  all  manner  of  curious  ways  of  applying 
the  water.  The  Carnival  had  resolved  itself  into  a  mimic 
battle. 

According  to  the  custom  of  the  countr}',  after  the  conflict 
was  over  and  the  participants  had  changed  their  clothing,  the 
lady  of  the  house  sensed  a  lunch,  over  which  a  truce  was 
established  for  a  few  hours. 

Tuesday  night  being  the  last  of  the  Carnival  proper,  the 
excitement  reaches  its  greatest  height.  Foreigners  as  well 
as  natives,  completely  drawn  under  the  influence  of  the 
absurd  custom,  enter  into  the  sport  with  energy. 

Collected  on  the  balconies  and  tops  of  the  flat-roofed 
houses,  they  not  only  drench  each  other,  but  throw  buckets 
full  of  water  upon  unfortunate  persons  passing  by  on  the 
pavement.  Those  who  think  themselves  safe  in  passing  at 
a  distance  are  reached  by  the  aid  of  a  hose.  Bright-colored 
paints  are  also  brought  into  requisition. 

Some  idea  of  the  utter  abandon  of  everybody  at  this  time 
may  be  gained  from  the  following  incident :  A  day  or  two 
before  Carnival  a  young  lady  anticipated  the  occasion  by 
playing  a  little  trick  upon  her  dentist. 

He  was  putting  a  neat  filling  of  gold  into  a  tooth  —  one  of 
those  delicate  and  difficult  pieces  of  work  of  which  a  dentist 
is  so  proud  —  and  was  performing  the  most  delicate  part  of  his 
task,  when  the  young  lady  quietly  passed  her  arm  around 
him,  and  bringing  her  hand  up  to  his  ear  burst  a  cascarone 
into  it !     He  said  it  sounded  like  a  thunder-clap. 

The  water  ran  down  his  ear  and  neck  ;  his  nerx^es  received 
a  shock  as  from  an  electric  battery.  The  job  of  dentistry 
was  spoiled,  the  work  had  to  be  done  over  again,  and  the 
father  had  an  increased  bill  to  pa3^  But  this  was  Carnival 
fun  and  the  parties  were  obliged  to  laugh  and  make  the 
best  of  it. 

Maria    Louise   Wetmore. 


A   Venezuelan    Railway. 

There  are  few  more  interesting  engineering  achievements 
than  the  little  narrow-gage  railroad  running  to  Caracas,  the 
capital  of  Venezuela,  from  its  seaport,  ha.  Guayra.  The 
distance  between  the  two  cities,  as  the  crow  flies, — supposing 
for  the  moment  that  he  could  fly  straight  through  the  moun- 
tain,—  is  only  six  miles  ;  but  the  railway  connecting  them  is 
twenty-three  miles  in  length,  and  constantly  twists  and  turns 
on  itself. 

The  road  runs  in  zigzag  fashion  up  the  mountain  to  an 
altitude  of  about  fifty-one  hundred  feet  above  its  starting  point, 
and  then  descends  some  fifteen  hundred  feet  in  the  same 
manner  into  the  valley  of  Caracas. 

Twenty-two  thousand  rails  were  used  in  laying  the  track, 
and  of  these  over  eighteen  thousand  are  bent.  It  is  jestingly 
said  that  the  engineer  almost  died  of  a  broken  heart,  because 
he  could  invent  no  excuse  for  bending  the  remaining  four 
thousand.  He  did  his  best,  however,  and  no  one  who  has  to 
ride  over  the  road,  and  finds  himself  shaken  at  every  one  of 
the  three  hundred  and  forty-six  sharp  twists  which  the  track 
makes,  will  find  it  in  his  heart  to  condemn  the  poor  man  for 
not  making  a  perfect  job. 

Two  passenger  trains  each  way  pass  over  the  road  daily, 
leaving  I,a  Guayra  at  half-past  eight  in  the  morning,  and  at 
half-past  three  in  the  afternoon,  making  the  journey  in  two 
hours  and  a  half.  This  is  a  speed,  exclusive  of  stops,  of  not 
quite  ten  miles  an  hour. 

Each  train  consists  of  a  locomotive,  a  baggage-car,  and  two 
or  three  passenger  coaches  about  the  size  of  a  street-car  in 
Northern  cities.  The  seats  run  lengthwise  through  the  car  — 
an  arrangement  necessitated  by  the  narrow  gage  of  the  road. 

The  fare  for  the  twenty-three  miles  is  two  dollars  and  a 
half  first-class,  and  one  dollar  and  sixty  cents  second.     The 


78  A   VENEZUELAN   RAILWAY. 

accommodations  are  equally  bad  in  the  cars  of  the  two  classes  ; 
the  only  visible  difference  between  the  two  is  that  the  first- 
class  car  is  the  less  crowded. 

The  locomotive  is  a  queer  little  machine,  about  the  size  of 
a  dirt-cart.  It  has  no  bell,  but  the  obliging  engineer  atones 
for  this  deficiency  by  keeping  up  an  almost  continuous 
whistling. 

As  we  leave  the  little  station  at  La  Guayra,  we  take  a 
serpentine  course  for  about  a  mile  through  cocoanut  groves 
along  the  sea.  Why  the  road  does  not  take  a  straight  course 
through  this  first  portion  of  the  wa3^  the  constructor  only 
knows,  for  the  ground  is  perfectly  level,  and  there  are  no 
obstructions  more  serious  than  a  cocoanut  palm  or  a  banana 
plant. 

After  writhing  along  the  beach  for  a  short  time,  we  sud- 
denly make  a  sharp  turn,  and  then  begins  the  climb  up  the 
face  of  the  mountain. 

Up,  up,  up  we  go,  turning  now  to  the  right  and  again  to 
the  left,  then  making  what  seems  to  be  an  almost  complete 
circle,  now  passing  through  a  tunnel  —  where  we  are  nearly 
stifled  by  the  hot  air  and  gases  from  the  engine,  which  sweep 
through  the  open  cars,  carrjdng  with  them  cinders  that  burn 
holes  in  the  clothes,  or  raise  blisters  where  they  touch  the 
unprotected  skin.  Then  we  emerge  from  the  hole  in  the 
mountain-side  in  a  place  where  we  appear  to  be  on  the  point 
of  jumping  over  the  precipice  one  or  two  thousand  feet  sheer 
down  into  the  water  that  laps  its  base. 

But  we  forget  for  a  moment  the  constructor's  passion  for 
curves.  We  make  two  or  three  short  turns,  as  if  uncertain  of 
our  course,  and  then  hoist  sharply  round,  and  go  back  the 
way  we  came.  As  we  look  down  from  the  car  window  we  see 
the  track  over  which  we  have  just  passed  about  fifty  feet  from 
us,  and  directly  beneath  us. 

Suddenly  we  stop.  We  wonder  what  has  happened,  for 
there  is  no  house  in  sight,  and  it  would  be  difficult  indeed  for 
any  one  to  find  a  spot  on  which  to  perch  a  house,  so  steep  is 
the  declivity.     The  only  thing  visible  except  trees  and  rocks 


A   VENEZUELAN    RAILWAY 


79 


is  a  large  iron  pipe  running  over  wooden  supports  through  a 
small  ravine  ;  and  now  we  see  that  it  carries  water  for  the 


A    Venezuelan    Railway. 


refreshment  of  our  thirsty  little  engine.  Six  times  we  stop  in 
this  way  in  our  wild  dance  up  the  mountain-side,  to  take 
breath  and  water  our  engine,  until  we  cross  the  highest  point 


8o  A   VENEZUELAN    RAILWAY. 

and  begin  to  slide  down  to  Caracas.  In  going  down  the 
mountain  on  either  side  gravity  is  the  only  propulsive  force 
employed,  steam  being  kept  up  only  to  work  the  brakes  and 
prevent  too  rapid  a  descent. 

There  is  but  one  station,  apart  from  the  watering  places, 
between  L,a  Guayra  and  Caracas,  and  this  the  railroad  people 
have  most  appropriately  named  Zigzag.  Here  the  trains  from 
opposite  directions  meet  and  pass  each  other. 

As  soon  as  the  engine  has  filled  its  boiler,  it  gives  one 
long  shriek  of  warning,  the  passengers  climb  into  the  little 
cars,  and  we  follow  once  more  the  giddy  wake. 

The  scenery,  as  viewed  from  the  window  of  our  car,  is 
grand  ;  but  in  order  to  enjoy  it  thoroughly  one  must  possess 
strong  nerves.  At  our  feet,  a  thousand  metres  below,  we  see 
a  faint  streak,  which  is  the  narrow  beach  on  which  L,a  Guayra 
lies.  The  houses  in  the  town  look  like  dice,  and  the  men  and 
donkeys  in  the  streets  have  become  invisible. 

Beyond,  stretching  awa}^  to  the  horizon,  now  vastly  ex- 
tended by  reason  of  our  elevation,  we  see  the  sparkling  blue 
waters  of  the  West  Indian  Ocean.  A  mere  speck  which  we 
can  hardly  discern  on  the  surface  of  the  sea  is  the  ship  which 
brought  us  to  this  coast,  and  which  left  for  the  chilly  north  an 
hour  before  we  began  our  cloudward  climb. 

If  we  turn  and  look  ahead,  we  see  the  mountain  rising  up 
ever  higher  and  higher  until  its  peak  is  lost  in  the  cloud  that 
always  clings  to  it,  as  if  fearful  of  tru.sting  itself  to  fly  alone 
and  without  support  over  the  distant  ocean. 

The  air,  which  was  so  hot  and  sultry  on  the  coast,  is 
growing  more  and  more  fresh  as  we  ascend,  and  it  becomes 
almost  chilly  as  the  cloud  hugging  the  mountain-top  receives 
us,  and  draws  the  curtain  which  hides  from  our  view  the 
beauties  of  nature  as  well  as  the  dangers  which  encompass  us. 

Dangerous  as  the  ascent  of  the  mountain  appears  to  be, 
and  really  is,  accidents  are  fortunatel}^  rare,  owing  to  the 
constant  vigilance  exercised  by  the  officials  of  the  road  over 
every  foot  of  the  track.  Landslides  do  occasionally  take  place, 
nevertheless,  and  no  amount  of  watchfulness  can  prevent  them, 


A   VENEZUELAN    RAILWAY.  8l 

or  even  give  warning  of  their  occurrence.  Fortunately  they 
have  never  yet  happened  to  strike  a  train.  The  road-bed  in 
many  places  is  a  mere  scratch  in  the  side  of  the  mountain, 
barely  wide  enough  to  permit  the  passage  of  the  narrow  cars. 
The  outer  rail  is  often  laid  within  a  few  inches  of  the  edge  of 
the  precipice,  so  that  in  looking  from  the  window  one  sees 
nothing  but  the  bottom  of  the  ravine  hundreds  of  feet  below. 

While  the  road  was  building,  it  was  frequently  found 
necessary  to  lower  men  by  long  ropes  from  above  until  they 
could  make  for  themselves  a  foothold  by  means  of  pick  and 
shovel. 

When  one  realizes  how  much  labor  and  money  have  been 
expended  in  forcing  this  way  through  almost  inconceivable 
natural  obstacles,  it  seems  indeed  a  pity  that  such  a  triumph 
of  engineering  skill  should  be  doomed  to  an  ephemeral 
existence ;  but  already  the  freight  and  passenger  traffic  taxes 
the  capacity  of  the  road  to  its  utmost,  and  if  the  present  rate 
of  increase  continues,  it  will  be  but  a  very  few  years  before  it 
will  be  utterly  unable  to  handle  it. 

Work  is  already  being  rapidly  pushed  forward  by  an 
American  company  on  a  new  route  between  La  Guayra  and 
Caracas,  which  is  to  pass  under  the  mountain  through  a 
tunnel  four  miles  in  length.  The  cars  on  this  new  road  will 
be  hauled  by  cable  power  up  a  ten  per  cent,  gradient,  and  will 
carry  freight  and  passengers  from  one  city  to  the  other  in  less 
than  half  an  hour. 

Thomas  L.  Stedman. 


/  i( 


The   Land   of  the   Llama. 

If  I  should  hear  of  an}-  one  intending  to  visit  Bolivia  for 
pleasure,  I  should  offer  him  the  advice  that  Mr.  Punch  gave 
to  )'oung  people  about  to  marry — "Don't;"  for  the  settled 
portion  of  that  republic  is  almost  as  inaccessible  as  the  interior 
of  Africa,  and  there  is  but  little  to  learn  or  see  when  it  is 
finally  reached. 

But  to  a  traveller  who  is  in  search  of  experience  I  would 
recommend  the  journey,  for  there  is  no  other  part  of  the  world 
where  one  can  get  so  much  experience  or  so  great  a  variety  in 
so  short  a  time,  and  for  the  same  amount  of  money. 

First  there  is  the  voyage  from  New  York  to  Aspinwall, 
which  in  the  summer  season  is  comfortable  and  pleasant ;  next 
the  trip  by  rail  over  the  famous  Panama  road  across  the 
Isthmus,  when  one  of  the  commodious  vessels  of  the  Pacific 
Steam  Navigation  Company  is  taken,  and  the  traveller  lives 
a  sort  of  picnic  life  for  the  next  three  weeks,  until  the  port  of 
Mollendo  is  reached. 

The  waters  of  the  South  Pacific  are  always  smooth,  the 
weather  is  always  fair  during  the  dry  season,  the  scenerj'  is 
sublime,  the  temperature  is  never  too  hot  nor  too  cool,  and  as 
long  as  you  remain  under  the  awnings  or  in  the  protection  of 
some  other  shade,  the  breezes  from  the  ocean  or  the  Andes 
temper  the  tropic  heat. 

The  ship  stops  at  all  the  ports  along  the  coast,  often 
dropping  anchor  two  or  three  times  a  day,  and  giving  the 
passenger  an  opportunity  to  go  a.shore  and  inspect  all  of  the 
quaint  towns  and  villages,  each  one  of  which  ordinarily  offers 
some  new  and  novel  adventure.  I  can  suggest  no  more 
agreeable  or  interesting  voyage  than  that  between  Panama 
and  Valparaiso. 

Mollendo  is  about  two-thirds  of  the  way.  There  passen- 
gers for  Bolivia  leave  the  ship  and  take  a  railway,  which  was 


THE    LAND    OF    THE    LLAMA.  83 

built  and  is  still  managed  by  an  enterprising  Boston  Yankee. 
The  conveniences  of  travel  by  this  line  have  not  reached  so 
high  a  state  of  perfection  as  are  found  upon  those  which  run 
between  New  York,  Philadelphia  and  Boston,  but  it  is  a  great 
improvement  upon  muleback-riding  over  a  thirsty  desert  and 
through  the  dizzy  passes  of  the  Andes. 

This  railroad  is  remarkable  for  running  nearer  the  stars 
than  almost  any  other  railway,  for  where  it  passes  over  the 
western  range  of  the  Andes,  into  the  great  basin  of  the 
southern  continent,  the  track  is  fourteen  thousand  seven 
hundred  and  sixty-five  feet  above  the  sea,  and  the  only  higher 
point  at  which  a  wheel  was  ever  turned  by  steam  is  where 
another  Peruvian  railway  tunnels  the  Andes.  No  other  long 
road  can  show  an  equal  amount  of  excavation,  nor  such 
massive  embankments,  and  the  engineering  difficulties  over- 
come in  its  construction  were  enormous. 

Along  the  side  of  the  track  for  a  distance  of  eight3^-five 
miles  is  an  iron  pipe,  eight  inches  in  diameter,  which  conducts 
water  from  the  springs  in  the  mountains  for  the  engines  and 
for  the  use  of  the  people  that  dwell  in  the  desert.  On  the 
other  side  of  this  desert  is  the  city  of  Arequipa,  whose  name 
signifies  the  place  of  rest,  although  it  is  more  subject  to 
earthquakes  and  political  revolutions  than  any  other  place  in 
Peru,  and  human  or  natural  agencies  are  raising  a  commotion 
all  the  while. 

The  former  terminus  of  the  railway  was  at  Puno,  a  little 
town  of  five  thousand  inhabitants,  at  an  elevation  of  twelve 
thousand  five  hundred  feet ;  but  it  has  been  carried  farther 
up  the  great  basin,  and  extended  through  a  pass  in  the 
eastern  range  of  the  Cordilleras,  and  down  the  slopes  to  the 
headwaters  of  the  Amazon. 

To  reach  L,a  Paz,  the  former  seat  of  government  and 
capital  of  Bolivia,  one  must  cross  Lake  Titicaca,  that  strange 
and  bottomless  sheet  of  water,  one  of  whose  islands  was  the 
legendary  Eden  of  the  Incas,  and  around  whose  shores  clustered 
the  prehistoric  cities  which  the  brutal  Spaniards  destroyed. 
Here  one  may  take  a  steamer,  at  any  rate  that  is  what  the 


84 


THE    LAND   OF   THE    LLAMA. 


people  call  it,  although  it  would  amuse  a  North  American 
shipwright,  and  usually  excites  a  nervous  apprehension  in  the 
minds  of  timid  travellers. 

If  one  does  not  care  to  board  this  unique  craft,  or  if  he 
wishes  to  depart  from  the  regular  route  of  travel  and  make  a 
cruise  among  the  ruined  cities  of  the  Incas,  he  can  hire  what 
is  called  a  balsa,  a  curious  combination  of  raft,  flatboat  and 
catamaran,  which  is  propelled  by  a  large  sail  made  of  skins 
and  by  long  poles. 

Reaching  the  southern  point  of  the  lake,  the  rest  of  the 
journej^  wherever  one  may  be  going,  must  be  made  on 
muleback  along  the  ancient  highway  of  the  Incas,  which  was 
constructed  centuries  before  the  conquest,  and  is  perhaps  the 
most  remarkable  of  the  many  remains  of  that  remarkable  race. 
The  Spaniards  have  done  little  to  improve  it  since  thej^  have 
had  control  of  the  country,  more  than  three  hundred  and  fifty 
years,  but  it  is  still  in  a  pretty  good  state  of  preservation,  and 
is  continually  trodden  by  parties  of  travellers,  battalions  of 
troops  and  droves  of  llamas,  often  thousands  in  number, 
laden  with  the  products  of  the  forests  and  mines  of  Bolivia. 

As  the  camel  is  to  the  people  of  the  deserts  of  Asia  and 
Africa,  so  is  the  llama  to  those  who  dwell  in  the  Andes  ;  a 
faithful,  patient  and  enduring  beast,  without  which  the 
inhabitants  would  be  utterly  helpless,  for  mules  and  horses 
can  neither  survive  the  climate  nor  climb  the  mountain  trails. 

But  the  llamas  one  sees  in  Bolivia  are  as  much  unlike  the 
animals  shown  in  the  zoological  gardens  as  the  tiger  in  the 
jungles  of  India  is  unlike  his  namesake  that  growls  and 
yawns  in  a  circus  cage. 

Their  bodies  are  covered  with  a  soft,  thick  gray  wool  like 
that  of  the  merino  sheep,  their  giraffe-like  necks  are  proudly 
and  gracefully  curved,  their  e^^es  are  large,  lustrous,  intelli- 
gent, and  have  an  expression  of  constant  inquiry.  Their  ears 
are  shapely,  and  quiver  continually,  like  those  of  a  high- 
mettled  stallion,  as  if  to  catch  the  first  sound  of  approaching 
danger. 

The  llama  to  me  is  a  most  fascinating  study.     While  he  is 


THE   LAND   OF   THE    LLAMA. 


85 


docile,    obedient    and    enduring,    there    is    always   an    air   of 


suspicion  or  distrust  about 
forbids  an  intimate  ac- 
quaintance. He  carries 
his  load  of  one  hundred 
pounds  of  ore,  or  coca,  or 
cinchona,  or  other  mer- 
chandise, up  and  down 
the  precipitous  pathways 
where  no  other  beast  of 
burden  can  go,  and  where 
it  is  difficult  for  man  to 
follow.     But  when 


him,    and   a  silent   dignity  that 


he  is  overloaded  he  resents  it, 
and  lies  down.     No  amount  of 
coaxing  or  bullying  or  beating 
can  get  him  to  his  feet  until  the 
surplus  is  removed    from  his  back, 
when  he  rises  solemnly  and  marches 
off  with  his  load.     He  will  carry  a 
hundred  pounds,  but  no  more,  and 
his    cargo   is   packed    in    sacks,    or 
panniers,    one-half   on   either    side. 


86  THE    LAND   OF  THE    LLAMA. 

Therefore  all  freight  subject  to  this  mode  of  transportation 
must  be  packed  accordingly,  and  limited  to  packages  of  fifty 
pounds. 

When  frightened,  llamas  always  cluster  in  groups,  with 
their  tails  together  and  their  heads  out  to  meet  the  enemy ; 
and  their  only  weapon  of  defence  is  their  saliva,  which,  when 
angry,  they  squirt  through  their  teeth  in  showers,  as  a  Chinese 
laundryman  sprinkles  his  clothes. 

A  drop  of  this  saliva,  falling  in  the  ear  or  eye  or  mouth,  or 
on  any  part  of  the  body  where  the  skin  is  broken,  will  instantly 
produce  a  most  painful  irritation,  and  often  dangerous  sores, 
like  the  venom  of  a  serpent.  The  llama-drivers  keep  away 
from  the  heads  of  their  animals  as  carefully  as  a  colored  man 
from  the  heels  of  a  mule. 

When  they  lie  down  they  fold  their  long,  slender  legs 
under  them  in  some  mysterious  manner,  and  chew  their  cud 
with  an  air  of  abstract  contemplation  and  absolute  content. 

The  kids  afford  excellent  food,  but  the  bodies  of  the  old 
llamas  are  masses  of  muscle,  tendon  and  gristle  that  are  tough 
and  rank.  They  live  to  a  great  age,  subsist  upon  almost 
anything  in  the  shape  of  food,  and  have  as  powerful  a  digestive 
apparatus  as  a  goat  or  an  ostrich. 

In  these  elevated  regions,  as  I  have  said,  it  is  difficult  for 
either  horses  or  mules  to  exist,  the  air  being  too  thin  for  them. 
Horses  are  seldom  seen,  and  mules  are  kept  only  for  the 
accommodation  of  travellers,  and  their  nostrils  are  split  so  as 
to  make  it  easier  for  them  to  breathe. 

When  a  horse  is  brought  into  the  high  altitudes  of  the 
Andes  the  blood  starts  from  his  mouth,  ears  and  nose,  and 
men  are  often  affected  in  the  same  way.  The  disease  is 
known  as  "sirroche,"  and  sometimes  is  fatal.  The  natives, 
having  been  born  and  bred  at  this  great  elevation,  are  no  more 
affected  by  the  rarity  of  the  atmosphere  than  the  negroes  of 
the  Brazilian  swamps  are  by  the  heat. 

W.  E.  Curtis. 


An  Evening  in  a  Brazilian  Forest. 


Let  us  wander  in  imagination  through  a  Brazilian  forest, 
just  as  the  burning  heat  of  day  is  passing  into  the  cool  of 
evening.  As  yet  nature  seems  asleep,  and  a  solemn  silence 
reigns  under  the  shade  of  the  colossal  forest  trees,  some  nearly 
two  hundred  feet  high  ;  the  Brazil  nut  and  monkey-cup  trees, 
the  king-tree  and  the  cow-tree,  which  spread  their  vast 
cupolas  of  foliage  over  the  smaller  cecropias  ;  tree-ferns  and 
palms  which,  though  smaller,  are 
some  of  them  from  fifty  to  a  hundred 
feet  high. 

By  and  by,  as  we  look  up  into  the 
branches  of  a  cecropia-tree,  we  see  a 
hairy  mass  resting  in  the  fork  between 
a  bough  and  the  trunk,  and  barely 
visible,  so  like  is  the  tint  of  the  hair 
to  the  lichens  and  dead-brown  mosses 
which  clothe  the  bark.  This  mass  is 
a  sloth,  grasping  the  bough  firmly 
with  his  clawed  feet,  as  he  sleeps 
through  the  heat  of  the  day.  It  is 
only  when  the  cool  of  evening  sets  in 

that  he  will  wake  up  to  feed,  and  move  quickly  along  from 
tree  to  tree,  grappling  each  branch  as  he  goes  with  his  twisted 
feet,  and  using  his  long  arms  and  supple  wrists  to  reach  to  the 
tips  of  the  boughs  for  tender  growing  shoots,  which  he  tears  off 
and  stuffs  into  his  mouth  to  chew  them  with  his  feeble  back 
teeth. 

To  see  him  on  the  ground  when  he  has  to  cross  an  open 
space,  you  would  think  him  a  poor  creature  at  best,  for  his 
ankles  are  so  twisted  that  he  can  only  tread  on  the  side  of  his 
feet.  His  toes  are  joined,  and  he  has  three  on  each  foot,  armed 
with  long  claws  very  inconvenient  to  tread  upon,  and  his  arms 


88 


AN    EVENING    IN    A    BRAZILIAN    FOREST. 


are  so  much  longer  than  his  legs  that  he  is  obliged  to  drag 
himself  along  on  his  elbows. 


-«*i*^^^ 


A    Brazilian    Forest. 


But  when  once  he  has  hoisted  himself  aloft  again,  these 
strange  limbs  serv^e  him  well.  The  twisted  ankles  enable 
his  long  claws  to  take  a  firm  hold  of  the  branches,  his  long 


AN    EVENING    IN    A    BRAZILIAN    FOREST.  89 

arms  reach  for  his  food,  and  his  long,  unwieldy  neck,  which 
has  more  joints  than  in  other  mammals,  allows  him  to  throw 
his  head  backward  to  seek  for  food.  He  has  no  front  teeth, 
but  his  sharp  claws  do  the  work  instead;  and  his  back  teeth, 
though  they  have  neither  enamel  nor  roots,  continue  to  grow 
up  from  below  as  they  are  worn  away  above. 

In  this  way  the  sloth  makes  the  most  of  the  very  primitive 
body  which  he  has  inherited  from  his  ancestors,  which  stood 
very  low  in  the  scale  of  mammals,  and  if  he  could  relate  the 
history  of  his  forefathers  it  would  be  a  very  interesting  one. 

First  he  would  tell  us  that  he  belongs  to  a  feeble  and 
dying  group  of  creatures  who  wander  few  and  far  between  in 
distant  parts  of  the  world  ;  and  that  while  he  has  two  very 
distant  relations  —  the  ant-bear  and  the  armadillo  —  roaming 
about  the  forests  near  him,  we  must  travel  right  across  the 
sea  to  South  Africa  to  find  the  other  two  branches  of  the 
family  stem,  the  aardvarks  and  pangolins. 

It  is  toward  nightfall  that  we  must  look  for  his  American 
compatriots  as,  leaving  the  thicker  parts  of  the  forest,  we 
wander  toward  the  banks  of  the  River  Amazon  or  some  smaller 
stream.  There  we  may  see  creeping  along  in  the  dark  a 
large,  gray,  hairy  animal  about  four  feet  and  a  half  long,  with 
black-colored  throat  and  shoulders  and  a  line  of  thick  hair 
along  his  back,  ending  in  a  bushy  tail  three  feet  long,  which 
drags  behind  him  on  the  ground. 

His  front  feet  are  twisted  so  that  he  walks  upon  the  edge 
instead  of  the  sole,  and  his  thin,  tube-like,  toothless  snout 
almost  touches  the  ground  as  he  moves  along,  his  thread-like 
tongue  protruded  at  interv^als,  as  though  to  test  the  objects  he 
passes. 

This  shambling,  heavy-going  creature  is  the  great  ant- 
bear,*  and  he  is  in  search  of  ant-hills  and  termite  (or  white 
ant)  mounds,  for  these  animals  are  his  chief  food,  as  he 
thrusts  into  their  homes  his  long,  flexible  tongue,  covered 
with  sticky  moisture,  bringing  out  thousands  at  each  thrust. 

His  toothless  mouth,    his    imperfect    collar-bone    and   his 

*  Myrmeeopliaga  jiibata. 


90  AN    EVENING    IN    A    BRAZILIAN    FOREST. 

twisted,  clawed  feet  with  united  toes,  all  show  that  he  belongs 
to  the  same  low  group  as  the  sloth. 

But  our  wonder  ceases  when  we  learn  how  strong  the  great 
ant-bear  is.  The  muscles  of  his  arms  and  shoulders  are  so 
powerful  that  he  can  hug  his  enemies  to  death,  while  his 
strong  claws  once  dug  into  the  flesh  never  loose  their  hold. 
Therefore,  although  he  has  no  teeth,  he  can  defend  himself 
even  against  the  jaguar  ;  and  he  does  not  fear  to  wander  freely 
and  rifle  the  ant-nests  of  the  South  American  forests,  just  as 
(his  distant  relation,  the  pangolin,  with  like  twisted  feet  and 
toothless  mouth,  feeds  on  termites  in  South  Africa,  protected 
not  by  strength,  but  by  scaly  armor. 

Then  is  the  time  that  the  howling  monkeys  make  the  forest 
resound  with  their  cries,  and  croaking  frogs,  chirping  cicadas, 
chattering  parrots  and  yelping  toucans  raise  a  very  Babel  of 
sounds,  soon  after  sunset.  It  is  at  this  hour,  or  perhaps 
rather  later,  when  the  evening  chatter  has  sunk  to  rest,  that 
the  tatou,  or  great  armadillo,  about  three  feet  long,  begins  to 
wander,  feeding  upon  fallen  fruits,  or  digging  deep  burrows 
with  his  long,  powerful  claws  in  search  of  roots  and  grubs. 
He  alone  of  the  American  "Edentata,"  or  imperfect-toothed 
animals,  walks  on  the  soles  of  all  four  feet,  and  in  this,  as  in 
man}'  other  ways,  more  resembles  the  aardvark,  or  ant-eater 
of  South  Africa,  than  his  companions  in  America. 

But  all  this  time  our  dreamy  sloth  is  waiting  to  tell  us  the 
history  of  the  past,  and  how  it  happens  that  he  and  his  com- 
rades have  distant  connections  so  far  awa}-  as  South  Africa, 
and  yet  none  in  other  parts  of  the  world.  If  he  could  speak, 
he  would  boast  with  pride,  as  others  have  done  before  him, 
that  there  was  once  a  time  when  his  family  spread  far  over  the 
face  of  the  earth  ;  when  from  India,  Greece  and  France  to  the 
Mississippi  Valley,  Nebraska  and  California,  animals  with 
imperfect  teeth  and  immense  claws  wandered  not  in  trees,  but 
on  the  ground. 

This  was  in  hot  Miocene  times,  when  they  were  among  the 
highest  animals  living  on  the  globe  ;  but  as  time  went  on,  and 
higher  and  stronger  creatures  —  elephants  and  buffaloes,  lions, 


AN    EVENING    IN    A    BRAZII.IAN    FOREST.  9I 

tigers,  leopards  and  others  —  killed  fhem,  or  drove  them  out  of 
the  great  continent,  the  remainder  found  homes  in  South  Africa 
and  South  America.  Then  came  the  time  when,  cut  off  from 
the  world  to  the  north,  huge  ground-sloths*  as  large  as 
elephants  ruled  supreme  in  South  America,  walking  on  their 
twisted  forefeet,  and  instead  of  climbing  trees,  tore  them  up 
by  the  roots  to  feed  on  their  foliage.  And  with  these  gigantic 
animals  were  others,  nine  feet  long,t  the  ancestors  of  the 
armadillos,  with  armor-plates  not  movable,  but  formed  into  a 
solid  shield,  while  to  complete  the  group  an  ancient  form  of 
the  ant-bear  +  bore  them  company. 

For  long  ages  these  monsters  flourished,  and  much  later 
on  left  their  bones  in  the  bone-caves  of  Brazil,  where,  mingled 
with  more  modern  bones  of  sloth,  armadillo  and  ant-bear,  they 
tell  the  history  of  the  past.  And  then  they  died  out ;  and  as 
the  great  Brazilian  forests  flourished  and  overspread  the  land, 
the  sloth  and  smaller  ant-bears  took  refuge  in  an  arboreal  life, 
while  the  great  ant-bear  trusted  to  his  powerful  limbs,  and  the 
armadillo  to  his  plated  armor,  for  protection  in  their  nightly 
wanderings  ;  and  thus  they  remained  to  tell  of  an  ancient  and 
once  powerful  race,  now  leading  a  secluded  life  in  South 
American  wilds. 

Arabella  B.  Buckley. 


•  Megatherium,  etc.    t  (ilyptoaou.    {  Glossotlierluiu. 


South    American    Games. 

The  boys  and  girls  of  South  America  have  many  of  the 
same  amusements  that  occupy  the  time  of  their  cousins  in  the 
northern  half  of  the  hemisphere.  Displays  of  toys  are  seen 
in  the  shop  windows  of  Santiago  and  L,ima  and  Buenos  A5'res 
and  Rio  de  Janeiro,  that  remind  one  of  the  attractions  of  the 
New  York  stores  at  holiday-  times,  and  the  imported  play- 
things come  from  the  same  places  where  ours  are  made, —  from 
France,  Switzerland  and  Germany. 

The  boys  have  rocking-horses,  and  tin  locomotives,  and 
lead  soldiers  ;  and  the  girls  have  dolls,  and  tiny  sets  of  china, 
exactly  like  those  sold  in  Boston  and  Chicago,  and  they  play 
with  them  in  the  same  wa3^  The  Spanish- Americans  are  an 
amusement-loving  people,  and  gratify  the  wishes  of  their  chil- 
dren with  quite  as  much  liberality  and  extravagance  as  the 
Yankees. 

The  South  American  children  pla^^  "  Hide  and  Seek,"  too, 
but  they  call  it  "  Juego  de  Escondite  ;  "  they  have  picnics, 
which  they  call  "  Meriendes  ;  "  and  "  Gallinita  Ciega,"  which 
is  a  sort  of  "  Blind  Man's  Buff,"  only  it  is  usually  played  in 
the  patios  or  courtyards  around  which  the  houses  are  built, 
and  not  within  doors. 

They  play  "  Pussy-wants-a-corner,"  which  is  called  "El 
Juego  de  las  Cuatro  Esquinas  ;  ' '  tag  and  cross-tag  ;  the  girls 
have  skipping  ropes  (Cuerda  para  saltar). 

They  also  have  a  game  called  "  Frio  y  Caliente,"  like  our 
"  Cold  and  Hot."  One  member  of  the  party  is  sent  out  of  the 
room.  Those  who  remain  select  some  object,  a  door-knob,  or 
a  picture,  or  some  article  of  furniture,  which  is  to  be  detected 
by  the  one  who  is  "  It, "  as  they  say.  As  the  "  It  "  approaches 
the  article  selected,  the  party  cry  "caliente,"  which  signifies 
that  he  is  clo.se  to  it,  and  when  he  goes  in  the  opposite 
direction  thev  crv  "  frio,"  which  means  cold. 


SOUTH   AMERICAN    GAMES.  93 

Sometimes  the  piano  is  used,  and  the  performer  plays 
louder  as  the  "  It "  goes  away  from  the  article,  and  softer  as 
he  approaches  near,  until  finally  when  his  hands  touch  it  the 
music  ceases,  and  some  one  else  takes  his  turn. 

Dolls  are  called  "  Munecas  "  in  Spanish,  and  their  clothes 
are  "Vestidos."  The  boys  have  tops  that  are  called 
' '  Trompos  ;  ' '  pop-guns  called  ' '  Tiraballes  ;  ' '  and  marbles 
that  are  called  "  Metras "  in  the  northern  countries,  and 
"  Bolletas  "  in  Peru  and  Chile.  They  usually  play  marbles 
in  a  ring,  with  a  hole  in  the  centre.  If  the  player  gets  his 
own  alley  into  the  hole  he  loses  it,  but  if  he  knocks  the  alley 
of  some  other  boy  into  the  hole  it  is  his.  They  play  with  a 
row  of  holes,  too,  placing  a  marble  in  each,  and  then  try  to 
knock  it  out  by  dropping  their  own  upon  it. 

There  is  a  tree  in  the  tropical  countries  that  produces  hard, 
round  nuts  like  marbles.  They  are  called  "  Jaboncillos,"  and 
the  boys  use  them  in  preference  to  marbles  made  of  clay. 

The  indoor  games  are  comparatively  few,  as  the  weather 
in  most  of  the  South  American  countries  is  so  mild  that  the 
children  can  spend  most  of  their  time  out-of-doors. 

They  have  bull-fights  in  imitation  of  those  attended  by 
their  fathers  and  mothers,  one  boy  acting  as  the  bull,  and  the 
others  teasing  him  as  the  "toreadors"  and  "matadors"  tor- 
ment the  real  animals,  and  when  the  time  comes  the  bull  is 
killed  and  dragged  out  by  a  pair  of  boys  harnessed  up  like 
horses. 

The  military  spirit  is  developed  early,  and  the  boys  organize 
companies  with  drums,  and  tin  swords,  and  wooden  guns,  and 
wear  uniforms  which  their  mothers  make  for  them.  Political 
parties  are  found  also  among  the  boys  as  among  their  fathers, 
and  revolutions  occur  frequently,  which  are  called  "Pronun- 
ciamentos." 

Baseball  is  not  played  as  it  is  in  the  United  States,  but 
the  European  game  of  "  handball,"  or  "  Peloto,"  as  they  call 
it,  is  common.  The  ball  is  thrown  against  a  wall  and  then 
struck  with  the  palm  of  the  hand  as  it  rebounds,  the  object 
being  to  keep  it  from  the  ground  as  long  as  possible.     The 


94 


SOUTH    AMERICAN    GAMES. 


player  who  keeps  the  ball  in  the  air,  between  his  hand  and  the 
wall,  the  longest  time,  wins.  Grown  men  play  hand-ball,  and 
have  courts  built  for  the  purpose. 

Tennis  is  as  common  as  in  this  country.     Once  in  Santiago, 
Chile,  I  called  at  the  house  of  a  Presbyterian  missionary,  and 


%  '^:  0< 


was  told  that  he  could  be  found  in  Cousino  Park.  I  followed 
him  there,  and  discovered  him  engaged  with  the  principal  of 
a  mission  school  and  a  party  of  ladies  playing  tennis  on  the 
lawn. 

The  South  Americans  do  not  play  "tenpins"  with  ten 
pins,  but  with  three.  The  centre  pin,  or  king,  as  they  term 
it,  counts  twelve  if  it  is  knocked  down,  and  the  others  six 
each.  The  game  is  called  "  Bollo."  A  game  peculiar  to 
Central  America  is  "Cereas."  A  bowl  is  made  of  beeswax 
with  a  convex  bottom,  and  balls  of  beeswax  are  thrown  to 
knock  it  down.     Quoits  are  common,  and  "duck  and  drake," 


SOUTH    AMERICAN    GAMES 


95 


which  is  played  with  stones,  as  it  is  in  this  country.  The  kite 
is  a  popular  toy  all  over  Central  and  South  America,  even 
more  popular  than  in  the  United  States,  and  is  called  "  El 
Cometa," — the  comet.  Some  of  the  kites  are  made  as  ours 
are,  but  others  are  peculiar.  The 
shape  is  usually  a  hexagon,  the  sticks 
are  bamboo,  and  the  covering  tissue- 
paper.  When  a  boy  wants  to  show 
his  artistic  taste,  he  ornaments  his 
kite  wnth  a  fringe  of  tissue-paper 
around  the  bottom,  as  is  shown  in  the 
accompanying  sketch  ;  and  if  he  be 
musical  he  extends  the  sticks  above 
the  paper  at  the  top  and  stretches 
across  them  strips  of  hide,  which  in  a 
strong  breeze  give  a  beautiful  sound 
like  an  ^olian  harp. 

A  musical  chord  can  be  made  by 
loosening  or  tightening  the  strings, 
as  shown  in  the  illustration.  The 
surface  of  the  kite  is  often  painted  to 
represent  the  face  of  a  man,  when 
the  fringe  around  the  sides  has  the 
appearance  of  a  beard,  and  is  trimmed 
accordingly. 

Sometimes  a  tin  knife  cut  in  the 
shape  of  a  crescent,   wnth  the  inner 

edge  sharpened,  is  attached  to  the  tail,  and  the  boy  who  is 
flying  it  tries  to  cut  the  strings  of  other  kites  that  happen  to 
be  in  the  air  around  his.  A  good  deal  of  skill  is  often  shown 
in  attacking  or  in  escaping  from  these  "  pirates,"  as  the  knife- 
tail  kites  are  called. 

A  popular  game  that  is  played  both  indoors  and  out  is 
called  "Tanganillo  y  Chito,"  the  prop  and  the  money.  A 
ring  is  drawn  upon  the  floor  or  upon  the  ground,  about  a  5'ard 
in  diameter,  and  a  section  of  a  broomstick  or  bamboo,  twelve 
or  eighteen  inches  long,  is  set  up  in  the  centre,  with  a  penny 


96  SOUTH    AMERICAN    GAMES. 

or  any  other  coin  on  the  top.  The  players  stand  off  a  certain 
distance,  and  by  throwing  pennies  endeavor  to  knock  the  coin 
from  the  top  of  the  stick.  If  it  falls  within  the  ring  the  player 
loses  and  forfeits  a  penny.     If  it  falls  without  the  ring  it  is  his. 

"  lya  Tira,  la  Eloja,"  can  only  be  translated,  "to  jerk,  to 
slacken."  It  is  played  with  a  large  napkin,  or  a  small  sheet, 
or  a  table-cloth.  Four  persons  hold  the  corners  tightly  in 
their  fingers,  and  a  fifth,  who  is  called  "the  director,"  stands 
by.  He  gives  orders  in  rapid  succession,  but  the  players  are 
expected  to  do  exactly  contrary  to  his  commands.  For 
example,  when  he  shouts,  "Jerk  !  "  they  are  to  slacken  and 
let  the  sheet  hang  loosely  between  them.  When  he  shouts, 
"Slacken!"  they  are  to  jerk  and  hold  the  sheet  taut  until 
the  next  order  is  heard.  When  a  player  obeys  orders  instead 
of  violating  them  he  is  required  to  pay  a  forfeit,  and  some 
other  member  of  the  party  steps  up  to  take  his  place. 

It  will  be  discovered  that  the  natural  inclination  of  the 
human  will  is  to  submit ;  and  only  one  who  has  great  self- 
control  can  remain  long  at  the  sheet. 

The  last  one  acts  as  judge,  and  like  the  goddess  of  justice 
is  blindfolded.  Then  the  fun  is  renewed,  for  as  the  forfeits 
are  held  up  one  by  one  before  him,  he  is  to  pronounce  the 
penalty  without  knowing  whether  the  owner  is  young  or  old, 
male  or  female.  He  maj'  require  some  venerable  patriarch  to 
squeal  like  a  pig  or  go  around  the  room  on  his  hands  and 
knees,  or  some  child  of  six  to  deliver  an  oration. 

W.  E.  Curtis. 


A  Young  and  Growing  Mountain. 

Down  on  the  coast  of  Central  America,  in  the  little 
Republic  of  Salvador,  so  near  the  ocean  that  it  may  be  seen 
from  the  decks  of  passing  ships,  is  a  mountain  that  grows. 

There  is  another  remarkable  fact  about  Izalco,  as  the 
mountain  is  called,  for  it  is  not  only  increasing  in  height  all 
the  time,  but  it  is  the  most  violent  and  constant  of  all 
volcanoes.  Every  little  while,  from  one  year's  end  to  the 
other,  it  spouts  vast  quantities  of  fire,  lava  and  ashes,  which 
fall  in  a  shower,  and  wrap  its  sides  for  a  thousand  feet  below 
the  summit  with  a  blanket  of  living  coals. 

It  is  impossible  to  conceive  a  grander  spectacle  than  is 
presented  at  night  to  the  passengers  upon  ships  that  go  that 
way.  No  one  goes  to  bed  on  the  steamer  till  the  mountain  is 
out  of  sight.  Travellers  go  a  long  distance  to  see  it,  and  are 
always  willing  to  admit  that  the  journey  repaid  them. 

The  mountain  rises  nearly  seven  thousand  feet,  and  as  its 
base  is  almost  in  the  sea  it  looks  much  higher.  An  immense 
plume  of  smoke  ascends  from  the  crater.  The  incessant 
bursts  of  flame,  mounting  five  hundred  feet  every  little  while, 
can  be  seen  for  more  than  a  hundred  miles  in  clear  weather. 
The  mountain  has  been  called  "  the  lighthouse  of  Salvador," 
and  the  shipping  on  the  coast  needs  no  other  beacon  so  far  as 
the  mountain  can  be  seen. 

Around  the  base  of  the  volcano  are  productive  sugar 
plantations,  with  a  railway  running  through  them.  Then 
comes  a  wide  strip  of  timber — an  almost  impenetrable  forest, 
whose  foliage  is  perpetual  and  of  the  darkest  green.  Beyond 
the  forest,  and  between  the  timber  line  and  the  summit,  is  a 
belt  of  ashes  and  lava  which  is  constantly  receiving  accessions 
from  the  crater,  and  every  few  minutes  changes  from  a  livid 
yellow,  when  the  ashes  are  hot,  to  a  silver-gray,  as  they  begin 
to  cool. 


98  A   YOUNG    AND    GROWING    MOUNTAIN. 

At  night  the  effect  is  very  fine.  At  each  eruption  there  is 
a  violent  explosion,  like  the  discharge  of  a  thousand  cannon, 
and  afterward  a  terrible  rumbling  is  heard  beneath  the  surface 
of  the  earth. 

Izalco  arose  suddenly  from  a  plain  in  the  spring  of  1770,  in 
the  midst  of  what  had  been  for  nearly  a  hundred  years  a 
profitable  sugar  plantation.  The  owner,  Don  Balthazar  Erazo, 
was  absent  on  a  visit  to  Spain  at  the  time,  and  was  greatly 
amazed  on  his  return  to  discover  that  his  farm  had  been 
exchang'id,  without  his  knowledge  or  consent,  for  a  first-class 
volcano. 

It  was  in  December,  1769,  that  the  peons  on  the  plantation 
first  noticed  that  something  was  wrong  underneath.  Although 
they  were  accustomed  to  "tremblors,"  as  slight  earthquakes 
are  called,  they  became  frightened  at  the  unusual  rumblings 
and  growlings  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth.  They  decided  to 
leave  the  place,  and  got  away  not  a  moment  too  soon.  A  few 
days  later,  when  some  of  the  mo.st  venturesome  went  back  to 
see  how  the  animals  were  getting  on,  they  discovered  that  all 
the  buildings  had  been  destroyed,  that  great  trees  had  been 
uprooted  and  large  craters  had  opened  in  the  fields,  from 
which  came  smoke  and  flames,  but  apparently  there  had  been 
no  great  eruption  as  yet. 

A  party  of  shepherds,  braver  than  the  rest,  decided  to 
remain  in  the  neighborhood  and  await  developments ;  and  on 
the  23d  of  February,  1770,  they  were  entertained  by  a 
spectacle  that  perhaps  no  other  men  were  ever  permitted  to 
witness  —  the  birth  of  a  mountain.  It  was  about  ten  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  as  they  afterward  said,  when  the  grand 
upheaval  took  place. 

First  came  a  series  of  terrific  explosions  which  lifted  the 
crust  of  the  earth  in  a  pile  several  hundred  feet  high,  and 
from  the  opening  issued  flames  and  lava,  with  masses  of 
smoke. 

An  hour  or  two  after  there  was  another  and  a  grander 
convulsion,  which  shook  the  country  for  hundreds  of  miles 
around,  and  did  great  damage  in  the  neighboring  towns. 


A    YOUNG    AND    GROWING    MOUNTAIN.  99 

Rocks  weighing  thousands  of  tons  were  lifted  high  in  the 
air,  and  fell  several  miles  distant.  The  surface  of  the  earth 
bulged  up  nearly  three  thousand  feet,  and  vast  masses  of 
rocks  were  piled  up  around  the  crater  from  which  they  issued. 

These  terrible  earthquakes  continued  for  several  days, 
and  great  damage  was  done  in  the  neighboring  States  of 
Nicaragua  and  Honduras,  as  well  as  in  San  Salvador. 

The  volcano  was  a  healthy  and  vigorous  child.  In  less 
than  two  months,  from  a  level  field  arose  a  mountain  more 
than  four  thousand  feet  high.  The  discharges  from  the 
crater  from  that  time  to  this  have  accumulated  around  the 
edges  until  the  pile  has  reached  nearly  seven  thousand  feet, 
and  it  is  still  growing.  Unfortunately  the  growth  of  the 
monster  has  not  been  scientifically  observed  or  accurately 
measured.  It  would  be  difficult  to  measure  it,  for  the  surface 
of  the  cone,  down  to  two  thousand  feet  from  the  summit,  is 
always  covered  with  hot  lava  over  which  no  man  could  climb, 
and  the  fumes  of  sulphur  would  suffocate  one  if  the  heat  could 
be  endured. 

Within  view  of  the  city  of  San  Salvador  are  eleven  great 
volcanoes,  one  other  beside  Izalco  being  constantly  active, 
while  the  others  are  subject  to  occasional  eruptions. 

The  nearest  peak  is  the  Mountain  of  San  Salvador,  which 
is  about  eight  thousand  feet  high  and  shows  to  great  advantage 
as  it  rises  abruptly  from  the  plain.  It  is  only  three  miles 
from  the  city  to  the  base  of  the  mountain,  but  the  sides  are  so 
broken  by  monstrous  gorges  and  projecting  cliffs  that  it  is 
almost  impossible  to  climb  it. 

The  summit  is  crowned  by  a  cone  of  ashes  and  lava  that 
fell  there  centuries  ago  ;  but  since  the  spring  of  1854,  when 
the  most  serious  earthquake  the  country  has  known  took 
place,  the  crater  has  been  extinct,  and  is  now  filled  with  a 
lake  of  clear,  cold  water. 

Lying  to  the  seaward  of  the  volcanoes,  and  not  far  from 
the  city  of  San  Salvador,  is  a  forest  of  balsam-trees  about  six 
hundred  square  miles  in  extent,  which  is  inhabited  by  a 
curious  race  of  Indians.     These  people  are  little  altered  from 


lOO  A    YOUNG    AND    GROWING    MOUNTAIN. 

their  primitive  condition,  and  are  permitted  to  remain  there 
undisturbed  and  enjo}^  the  profits  derived  from  the  sale  of 
balsam. 

The  forest  is  full  of  foot-paths  which  are  so  intricate  as  to 
baffle  strangers  who  try  to  enter,  and  it  is  not  safe  to  make  the 


The    Volcano    of    Izalco. 


attempt,  as  the  Indians,  peaceable  enough  when  they  come 
out  to  mingle  with  the  other  inhabitants  of  the  country, 
violently  resent  any  intrusion  into  their  stronghold.  They 
keep  their  common  earnings  in  a  treasure-box,  to  be  distributed 
by  the  old  men  among  the  families  as  their  necessities  require. 
There  is  a  prevailing   impression    that   the  tribe  has  an 


A    YOUNG    AND    GROWING    MOUNTAIN.  lOI 

enormous  sum  of  money  in  its  possession,  since  its  earnings 
are  large  and  the  wants  of  the  people  are  few.  The  surplus 
existing  at  the  end  of  each  year  is  supposed  to  be  buried  in  a 
sacred  spot  with  religious  ceremonies.  These  Indians,  who 
are  temperate  and  industrious,  are  known  to  history  as  the 
Nahuatls,  but  are  commonly  spoken  of  as  "  Balsimos." 

Although  San  Salvador  is  the  smallest  in  area  of  the  group 
of  Central  American  Republics,  and  smaller  than  Massachu- 
setts, it  is  the  most  prosperous,  the  most  enterprising  and  the 
most  densely  populated,  having  about  as  many  inhabitants  as 
Connecticut.  The  natives  are  engaged  not  only  in  agriculture, 
but  quite  extensively  in  manufactures. 

They  are  more  energetic  and  industrious  than  the  people 
in  other  parts  of  Central  America,  and  gain  wealth  rapidly  ; 
but  the  constantly  recurring  earthquakes  and  political  disturb- 
ances keep  the  country  poor. 

San  Salvador  has  always  taken  the  lead  in  the  political 
affairs  of  Central  America.  It  was  the  first  to  throw  off  the 
yoke  of  Spain.  After  several  ineffectual  attempts  to  gain 
independence,  the  Salvadorian  Congress,  by  an  act  passed  on 
the  2d  of  December,  1822,  resolved  to  annex  the  little  province 
to  the  United  States,  and  provided  for  the  appointment  of 
commissioners  to  proceed  to  Washington  and  ask  its  incorpo- 
ration in  the  great  republic. 

Before  the  commissioners  could  leave  the  country  the 
revolutions  in  the  other  Central  American  States  had  become 
too  formidable  to  suppress.  The  five  states  joined  in  a 
confederacy  one  year  after  the  act  of  annexation  to  the  United 
States  was  passed,  and  the  resolution  was  never  officially 
submitted  to  our  government. 

W.  E.  Curtis. 


In  the  Grand  Plaza  of  Mexico, 


Here  stood  Montezuma's  mighty  temple  to  the  Sun.  Much 
allowance  must  be  made,  of  course,  for  the  vivid  imaginations 
of  the  Spanish  historians  in  the  romantic  days  of  the  discovery 
and  conquest  of  the  New  World ;  but  even  to  this  day,  and 
right  here  on  and  about  the  great  plaza  you  see  unim- 
peachable testimony  to  this  heathen  temple's  storied  splendor. 

This  grand  plaza  is  still,  as  it  was  when  Cortez  first  entered 
it  as  the  invited  guest  of  the  great  Indian  city,  the  heart  of 
Mexico.  The  palace  built,  or  rather  begun,  bj^  Cortez,  stands 
on  the  eastern  side  of  the  great  square.  This  palace  is  the 
largest  in  the  world.  It  is  not  the  finest  palace  in  the  world, 
but  it  is  the  broadest ;  covering  more  acres  of  ground  than  any 
other  palace  or  public  building  of  an}-  sort  that  I  have  seen  in 
all  my  travels.  It  is  a  low  and  ugly  edifice,  and  is  built  for 
the  most  part  out  of  the  stones  of  the  overthrown  temple  to 
the  Sun. 

Every  Monday  morning  all  Mexico,  or  at  least  all  the  idle 
and  curious  and  pleasure-seeking  portion  of  Mexico,  and  that 
is  a  large  portion  of  the  citizens,  comes  to  this  plaza  to  hear 
the  band  play  and  see  the  troops  deploy  before  the  palace. 
The  president  and  his  officers,  all  in  brilliant  uniforms,  sit  or 
stand  on  the  upper  balcon}^  of  the  palace,  and  review  the 
troops.  There  are  always  many  ladies  with  the  president  and 
his  officers, — many  of  them  American  ladies, —  and  there  is 
often  much  cheering  and  patriotic  enthusiasm.  The  music  is 
very  good,  as  in  all  Latin  lands. 

The  Mexican  soldier,  as  seen  here  at  these  costume  parades, 
is  a  queer,  pitiful  little  fellow,  and  he  is  still  more  queer  and 
pitiful  as  you  see  him  out  of  the  city  marching  up  and  down 
the  country- . 

It  is  the  policy  of  Mexico  to  keep  her  soldiers  constantly 
moving  about.     And  as  the  Mexican  .soldier  nearly  always  has 


IN    THE    GRAND    PLAZA    OF    MEXICO. 


103 


his  wife  and  children  with  him,  he  cuts  a  queer  figure  when 
marching  up  and  down  the  country  from  town  to  town.  At 
such  times  he  is  always  barefooted  ;  and  at  best,  he  has,  as  a 
rule,  only  wooden  sandals  to  wear.     When  marching  in  the 

country  he  gener- 
ally has  his  pan- 
taloons and  coat 
rolled  up  and  tied 
in  a  bundle  along 
with  his  blanket 
and  provisions. 
His  bundle  the 
wife  generally  has 
on  her  head  as 
she  trots  along  at 
his  side. 

The  poor  little 
brown  soldier,  his 
naked  skin  glis- 
tening like  pol- 
ished copper  in 
the  sun,  nearly 
always  has  a  child 
in  his  arms.  Their 
affection  for  their 
little  brown  children  is  beautiful,  indeed.  I  have  often  seen  a 
barefooted  soldier  struggling  along  with  a  whole  little  family — 
except  the  wife  —  in  his  arms  or  on  his  back.  As  night 
approaches  and  the  troops  are  nearing  the  place  to  camp,  the 
women  go  on  before  with  their  burdens  on  their  heads  and 
their  babies  on  their  backs,  and  make  fires  and  prepare  the 
scanty  meal  ;  while  the  poor  little  brown  soldiers  trim  up  their 
irregular  lines  a  bit,  and  enter  camp  with  a  show  of  discipline 
under  the  sharp  orders  of  the  handsome  officers. 

When  the  bands  play  in  the  grand  plaza  and  the  troops 
deploy,  and  the  glistening  brass  cannon  rumble  and  trundle 
over  the  big  cobblestones,  you  see  thousands  of  women  and 


» 


V. 


mm 


k 


im 


AriUr " 


The    Cathedral    of    Mexico. 


IN    THE    GRAND    PLAZA    OF    MEXICO.  I05 

children  on  the  edge  of  the  square  watching  it  all  with  intense 
delight.  For  to  many  of  them  this  is  their  first  glimpse  of  the 
great  palace,  and  the  president  of  Mexico. 

After  an  hour  of  rather  awkward  parade  over  the  ugly 
cobblestones  and  under  the  eye  of  the  president,  one  regiment 
after  another  is  permitted  to  melt  away,  and  drop  out  in  a 
"go  as  you  please  "  march  again  for  the  country. 

Ah,  then  you  should  see  the  wives,  the  babies  who  have 
been  noting  the  brave  soldiers  all  this  time  !  They  struggle 
forward,  they  clasp  husband,  father  by  the  neck,  hand,  any- 
where that  they  can  get  hold  of  him.  They  praise  his  beauty 
and  his  soldierly  bearing,  they  insist  on  carrying  his  gun, 
they  kiss  him  over  and  over  again  ;  and  he  is  glad  ;  he  is  very 
glad.  He  sheds  tears  of  joy  as  he  trudges  on  toward  one  of 
the  seven  gates  of  the  city. 

Now  and  then  he  stops,  catches  up  a  half-naked  child, 
presses  it  to  his  heart,  kisses  it  over  and  over  again  ;  and  only 
sets  its  little  naked  brown  feet  again  on  the  ground  in  order 
to  take  up  another  one  of  his  miserable  little  children,  and 
embrace  it  also. 

All  these  soldiers  are  very,  very  small  men.  I  have  often 
seen  them  fairly  stagger  under  the  weight  of  their  big,  ugly 
muskets  as  they  panted  and  perspired  under  a  hot  day's  march 
in  the  country.  At  such  times  the  little  children  lie  thick 
along  the  line  of  march  under  cactus  plants  and  in  the  shadow 
of  stone  walls,  nearly  dead  from  exhaustion,  waiting  for  the 
poor,  tired  father  to  come  back  from  the  end  of  the  day's 
march  and  take  the  little  starved  things  to  his  heart. 

The  one  special  object  of  interest  here  by  this  storied  plaza 
of  Mexico  City,  after  the  palace,  is  the  cathedral.  It  stands 
on  the  north  side  of  the  square  facing  the  sun,  as  did  the  great 
heathen  temple  from  the  ruins  of  which  it  was  built.  This  is 
the  richest  place  of  worship  in  the  world,  that  is  to  say,  it  has 
more  gold  and  silver  in  and  about  its  altars  and  sacred  places 
than  any  other  like  place  now  to  be  found  on  earth,  if  we  are 
to  believe  our  eyes. 

And  yet  you  hear  it  whispered  that  the  great  silver  rails 


IN    THE    GRAND    PLAZA    OF    MEXICO.  lO? 

around  the  altars  here,  as  well  as  at  the  other  rich  church  a 
league  distant,  are  no  longer  solid  silver  ;  that  the  lofty  golden 
candlesticks  are  no  longer  solid  gold.  But  of  this  no  one  can 
sa}'  certainly  except,  perhaps,  the  few  great  dignitaries  at  the 
head  of  the  Catholic  Church  in  Mexico. 

The  music  is  fine  here,  certainly  the  finest  of  its  kind  in 
America.  But  the  place  is  dirty  and  damp  and  gloomy  from 
one  end  of  the  year  to  the  other.  A  dozen  or  more  deformed 
and  repulsive  creatures  creep  about  the  doors  over  the  dirty 
stones,  and  implore  you  as  you  pass  in  to  buy  lottery  tickets 
which  they  crumple  in  their  dirty  hands.  You  are  not  asked 
for  any  money,  but  there  are  plenty  of  little  boxes  tacked  up 
here  and  there  for  the  reception  of  whatever  you  may  please 
to  bestow. 

There  are  many  rare  and  costly  pictures  here  in  this 
glorious  old  cathedral ;  and  yet  the  real  pictures  of  Mexico, 
the  pretty  ones,  the  pathetic  ones,  the  pictures  that  make  j^ou 
put  your  handkerchief  to  your  eyes  a  dozen  times  a  day  are 
people  themselves.  How  loving  they  are  !  How  true  they 
are  to  one  another  in  all  their  misery,  all  their  abject  ignorance 
and  most  piteous  poverty  ! 

There  is  a  little  flower-garden  and  some  great  trees  in  the 
centre  of  the  grand  plaza,  and  here  late  in  the  afternoon  the 
band  plays,  and  the  fashionable  people  congregate. 

You  should  see  the  little  brown  gardener  in  broad  hat 
and  narrow  white  breechcloth  at  work  in  the  flower-garden 
here  in  the  grand  plaza  of  Mexico  City  !  You  should  see  him 
mow  the  lawn.  And  how  does  he  do  it?  Why,  in  the  first 
place  he  squats  flat  down  on  his  naked  heels,  and  then  he 
hitches  himself  along  as  fast  as  he  cuts  away  the  grass,  without 
rising  up  or  even  lifting  his  head  from  his  work.  And  what 
does  he  mow  with  ?  Why,  a  little  piece  of  glass  or  rather  of 
obsidian,  the  same  as  he  used  when  Cortez  came. 

In  digging  up  the  stump  of  a  eucalyptus-tree  here  last 
winter  the  gardener  came  to  a  stone  which  proved  to  be  a 
huge  and  hideous  idol.  The  government  claims  all  such 
discoveries,  and  in  excavating  this  idol  for  the  fine  museum  in 


Io8  IN   THE    GRAND    PLAZA   OF    MEXICO. 

the  palace,  two  others  were  found.  They  weigh  perhaps  a 
ton  each,  and  had  long  ago  been  tumbled  down  here,  no  doubt, 
by  the  Spaniards  when  they  destroyed  the  temple  to  the  Sun. 
It  is  said  that  many  rare  and  curious  things,  as  well  as  much 
gold  and  silver,  are  still  buried  here  on  the  site  of  the  pagan 
temple,  but  only  the  impoverished  government  can  make 
excavations. 

I  have  now  described  the  eastern  and  the  northern  sides 
of  the  great  square,  the  palace  and  the  cathedral.  The  other 
two  sides  are  made  up  entirely  of  broad  porches.  These 
porches  reach  out  from  fashionable  stores  and  fine  shops  of  all 
sorts,  and  are  turned  into  little  booths  or  bazaars  by  day  and 
on  till  midnight.  But,  curious  to  tell,  at  and  from  the  moment 
of  midnight  the  porches  belong  to  the  people  till  sunrise  ! 

A  little  before  midnight  those  pretty  little  shops  that  blaze 
and  brighten  all  day  and  till  late  at  night  begin  to  melt  away. 
The  Arab,  the  Turk,  the  Frenchman,  the  German,  all  sorts  of 
storekeepers  fold  up  their  tents,  and  suddenly  start  out,  as 
the  little  half-nude  and  helpless  children  of  the  sun  steal  in 
and  lie  down  to  rest  on  the  hard  stones  of  this  half-mile  of 
porches. 

Till  three  in  the  morning  when  the  sudden  sun  comes 
pouring  over  the  low  palace  like  a  silver  sea,  and  flooding 
their  faces  !  They  spring  to  their  feet  on  the  instant ;  they 
pour  forth  into  the  plaza  in  torrents  ;  one,  two,  ten  thousand 
people  with  their  kindly  copper  faces  lifted  to  the  sun  !  They 
gather  about  the  laughing  fountains  in  the  broad  plaza,  they 
laugh  with  the  laughing  water  as  they  plunge  their  arms  or 
their  heads  into  flowing  pools. 

All  the  street-cars,  more  than  a  dozen  lines  of  them,  start 
from  the  grand  plaza  here,  and  never  stop  their  gallop  till  they 
come  to  a  station. 

There  is  one  very  new  and  yet  very  solemn-looking  and 
curious  street-car  starts  here.  It  has  a  huge,  black  cross  over 
its  one  broad,  black  platform,  and  is  called  "the  car  of  the 
dead."  The  once  long  and  dreary  processions  of  priests  for 
the  dead  are  allowed  no  longer  here.     You  go  to  your  grave 


IN    THE    GRAND    PLAZA    OP    MEXICO.  I09 

by  Street-car  in  Mexico  Citj'  now.  This  car  starts  every  hour, 
and  from  the  number  of  those  who  go  out,  but  come  not  back, 
by  this  car,  you  would  say  that  Mexico  is  a  sickl}'  city.  But 
it  is  not  so  sickly  as  it  seems.  For  in  the  first  place  all  the 
dead,  as  a  rule,  are  buried  from  this  presence  of  the  cathedral ; 
and  in  the  second  place  there  are  almost  always  two  coffins  to 
one  corpse.  One  of  these  coffins  holds  the  dead,  the  other 
holds  flowers  which  are  to  be  emptied  upon  the  dead  when  in 
the  grave. 

How  this  seems  to  soften  the  whole  hard  fact  of  the  funeral ! 
One  coffin  holds  beautiful  sweet  flowers  ;  one  —  and  you  can't 
guess  which  one  — holds  the  dead. 

The  poor  people  here  —  and  they  are,  at  least,  nine  to 
one  —  take  all  their  dead  to  the  grave  on  their  backs.  But 
they  also  always  have  the  two  coffins,  and  they  also  always 
come  by  way  of  the  cathedral  when  on  their  way  to  the  grave. 
There  is  a  whole  street  close  by  the  cathedral  with  nothing  but 
coffins  in  it ;  but  they  are  not  all  of  them  black  and  sombre. 
Some  are  a  bright  red,  some  are  brilliant  with  painted  roses, 
some  are  curiously  marked  by  queer  figure-paintings,  and 
look  like  Egyptian  work. 

The  poor  never  bury  the  coffin  with  the  dead,  it  is  always 
brought  back,  along  with  the  narrow  little  box  that  was  filled 
with  roses.  There  are  professional  carriers  for  these  occasions 
called  "  cargadaro."  They  sit  around  the  grand  plaza  in 
dozens  with  little  ropes  in  a  girdle  at  the  side.  They  always 
go  in  a  trot,  as  if  the  dead  had  whispered,  "Hurry  up!  I 
want  to  get  out  of  this  and  rest  in  my  bed  of  roses  !  ' ' 

Joaquin  Miller. 


The   Boys   of  Mexico. 

The  Mexican  boy  has  plenty  of  play,  though  he  cares  little 
for  hoops  or  balls,  tops,  kites  or  marbles.  Unless  he  is 
unusually  poor  he  has  a  horse  and  saddle  of  his  own, 
especially  if  he  lives  in  the  country  ;  and  no  matter  how  poor 
he  may  be,  he  either  has  a  donkey  or  can  borrow  one  in  five 
minutes. 

He  often  learns  to  ride  when  he  is  so  small  that  he  has  to 
climb  up  the  fore  leg  of  the  horse,  pull  himself  up  bj^  his  mane, 
swing  one  leg  over  the  neck  of  the  horse  and  then  slide  down 
on  its  back.  He  soon  learns  to  reach  down  from  the  saddle 
and  pick  up  things  from  the  ground  while  the  horse  is  in 
motion. 

One  day,  starting  out  to  shoot  ducks  in  the  State  of 
Durango,  I  was  followed  by  a  native  boy  about  seven  years 
old  on  horseback,  who  went  to  pick  up  the  game. 

It  was  almost  as  much  sport  to  see  him  get  the  ducks  as  it 
was  to  shoot  them.  Through  mud,  water,  brush,  and  among 
rocks,  he  rode  at  a  gallop  with  about  equal  ease,  always 
reaching  down  from  the  saddle  to  pick  up  a  duck,  and  coming 
back  with  it  like  the  wind. 

Sometimes  when  the  water  was  very  deep  he  made  his 
horse  swim  out  to  the  duck  ;  and  if  the  mud  were  too  deep 
along  the  edge  of  the  pond  he  threw  his  lasso  over  the  duck 
out  in  the  water,  and  pulled  it  in  to  where  he  could  reach  it 
without  getting  his  horse  fast  in  the  mud. 

IvCarning  to  ride  so  early,  and  spending  much  of  his  time 
on  the  horse,  the  Mexican  boy  becomes  a  wonderful  rider. 
He  would  not  make  a  very  graceful  appearance  in  Central 
Park  in  New  York,  but  there  is  no  monkey  in  the  museum 
there  that  can  cling  to  a  prancing  horse  more  firmly  than  he 
can.  And  yet  generally  he  rides  without  clinging  at  all.  He 
does  not  press  the  horse  with  his  knees  or  legs,  but  maintains 


THE    BOYS    OF    MEXICO.  Ill 

his  position  simply  by  keeping  his  balance.  The  most 
common  plaything  of  the  boy  of  Mexico,  and  the  one  he 
enjoys  above  all  else,  is  the  lasso,  or  riata.  It  takes  the  place 
of  pea-shooters,  popguns,  slings,  bows  and  arrows,  and  nearl}' 
all  else  but  the  horse,  and  is  a  plaything  of  which  he  seldom 
tires. 

He  begins  to  throw  his  mother's  clothes-line  as  soon  as  he 
is  able  to  make  a  noose  in  the  end  of  it  and  coil  it.  With  this 
he  practises  until  he  can  throw  it  quite  easil}^  over  a  post,  or 
the  head  of  his  younger  brother.  As  soon  as  he  begins  to  tire 
of  this,  for  the  reason  that  it  does  not  show  enough  skill,  he 
tries  to  catch  the  domestic  animals  as  they  run.  To  do  this 
well  requires  a  great  deal  of  practice  ;  but  at  last  he  becomes 
so  skilful  that  he  can  cast  the  noose  over  any  foot  of  an  animal 
in  full  run,  and  soon  afterward  learns  to  do  the  same  from  the 
back  of  a  horse  while  in  full  gallop. 

Most  of  his  early  practice  is  upon  the  dog  or  cat,  or  some 
member  of  the  family,  or  upon  the  goat  or  pig  in  the  yard. 
Very  soon  the  dogs  and  donkeys  in  the  street  begin  to  suffer ; 
but  when  donkeys  are  scarce,  and  the  dogs  have  all  taken  to 
their  holes,  the  boys  practise  upon  one  another,  taking  turns 
in  running  past  their  comrades,  and  trying  in  all  possible 
ways  to  avoid  the  noose  with  their  feet. 

Many  of  the  dogs  in  Mexico  have  been  lassoed  so  often 
that  they  will  run  for  cover  at  the  sight  of  a  rope  in  a  boy's 
hands  ;  while  others  have  become  so  hardened  that  they  will 
stand  and  watch  the  rope  with  cool  indifference,  and  spoil  the 
boy's  fun  b}^  not  running  at  all. 

This  is  a  harmless  amusement,  for  the  rope  is  so  light  that 
it  does  not  hurt,  and  animals  learn  to  stop  the  moment  the 
rope  is  fast  around  them.  It  is  an  amusement  that  might  well 
be  practised,  under  proper  guidance,  by  boys  in  our  own 
country  ;  for  the  ability  to  coil  a  rope,  and  cast  a  noose  over 
an  object  forty  feet  away  in  less  than  half  a  minute,  is  an 
accomplishment  that  may  be  useful  in  many  ways  before  one  is 
done  with  this  world. 

Mexican  children  are  very  seldom  rude  or  saucy.     They 


112  THE    BOYS    OF    MEXICO. 

are  taught  to  be  polite  under  all  circumstances  and  to  all 
people.  Some  parents  would  rather  have  their  boy  be  almost 
anything  else  than  a  "grosero,"  or  rude  person.  For  this 
reason  one  hears  little  quarrelling  or  rough  talk  among  children 
playing,  and  sees  hardly  any  fighting  or  bullying  of  little  boys 
by  larger  ones. 

For  the  same  reason  Mexican  boys  are  not  as  mischievous 
in  many  ways  as  the  children  of  some  other  countries.  The 
glass  would  stay  for  years  in  the  wnndows  of  an  empty  house  in 
Mexico,  and  one  is  never  in  danger  of  being  tripped  by  a 
string  stretched  across  the  pavement. 

Many  of  the  children  brought  up  away  from  the  cities  in 
Mexico  never  go  to  school,  and  never  learn  to  read  or  write. 
On  the  great  farms,  or  "haciendas,"  thousands  of  children 
are  born,  grow  old  and  die  without  seeing  or  knowing 
anything  of  the  great  outside  world.  Some  of  these  farms  are 
larger  than  certain  whole  counties  in  the  United  States,  and 
some  of  them  have  hundreds  of  laborers,  all  of  whom,  from 
father  to  son,  are  born,  live  and  die  on  the  same  farm. 

T.  S.   VanDyke. 


^  St 


The   Sea    of  the   Discovery. 

The  Bahama  Sea  is  perhaps  the  most  beautiful  of  all 
waters.     Columbus  beheld  it  and  its  islands  with  a  poet's  eye. 

"  It  only  needed  the  singing  of  the  nightingale,"  said  the 
joyful  mariner,  "  to  make  it  like  Andalusia  in  April ;  "  and  to 
his  mind  Andalusia  was  the  loveliest  place  on  earth.  In 
sailing  among,  these  gardens  of  the  seas  in  the  serene  and 
transparent  autunin  days  after  the  great  discovery,  the  soul  of 
Columbus  was  at  times  overwhelmed  and  entranced  by  a 
sense  of  the  beauty  of  everything  in  it  and  about  it.  Life 
seemed,  as  it  w^ere,  a  spiritual  vision. 

"I  know  not,"  said  the  discoverer,  "where  first  to  go; 
nor  are  my  eyes  ever  wearj^  of  gazing  on  the  beautiful  verdure. 
The  singing  of  the  birds  is  such  that  it  seems  as  if  one  would 
never  desire  to  depart  hence." 

He  speaks  in  a  poet's  phrases  of  the  odorous  trees,  and  of 
the  clouds  of  parrots  whose  bright  wings  obscured  the  sun. 
His  descriptions  of  the  sea  and  its  gardens  are  full  of  glowing 
and  sympathetic  colorings,  and  all  things  to  him  had  a 
spiritual  meaning. 

"  God,"  he  said,  on  reviewing  his  first  voj^age  over  these 
Western  waters,  "God  made  me  the  messenger  of  the  new 
heavens  and  earth,  and  told  me  where  to  find  them.  Charts, 
maps  and  mathematical  knowledge  had  nothing  to  do  with 
the  case." 

On  announcing  his  discover}-  on  his  return,  he  breaks 
forth  into  the  following  highly  poetic  exhortation  :  ' '  I^et 
processions  be  formed,  let  festivals  be  held,  let  lauds  be  sung. 
Let  Christ  rejoice  on  earth  !  " 

Columbus  was  a  student  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  poets,  and 
of  the  poetry  of  the  Hebrew  Scriptures.  The  visions  of  Isaiah 
were  familiar  to  him,  and  he  thought  that  Isaiah  himself  at 
one  time  appeared  to  him  in  a  vision.     He  loved  nature.     To 


14 


THE   SEA   OF   THE    DISCOVERY 


him  the  outer  world  was  a  garment  of  the  Invisible  ;  and  it 
was  before  his  great  soul  had  suffered  disappointment  that  he 
saw  the  sun-flooded  waters  of  the  Bahama  Sea  and  the  purple 


^     ^.. 


splendors  of  the  Antilles.  There  is  scarcely  an  adjective  in 
the  picturesque  report  of  Columbus  in  regard  to  this  sea  and 
these  islands  that  is  not  now  as  appropriate  and  fitting  as  in  the 
days  when  its  glowing  words  delighted  Isabella  four  hundred 
years  ago. 

I  recently  passed  from  the  sea  of    Watling's    Island,  the 


THE   SEA   OF   THE    DISCOVERY.  II5 

probable  "  San  Salvador,"  to  the  point  of  Cuba  discovered  on 
the  28th  of  October,  1492,  and  to  the  coast  of  Haiti,  the 
Hispaniola  of  Columbus,  and  the  scene  of  the  first  settlement 
in  the  New  World.  I  had  studied  the  descriptions  of 
Columbus,  and  almost  every  hour  of  the  voyage  brought  them 
to  mind  like  so  many  pictures. 

Watling's  Island  was  probably  the  first  landfall  of 
Columbus,  and  the  scene  of  the  dramatic  events  of  the 
elevation  of  the  cross,  the  singing  of  the  Te  Deum,  and  the 
unfurling  of  the  banner  of  the  double  crowns  of  Leon  and 
Castile  on  the  red  morning  of  October  12,  1492. 

The  San  Salvador  of  the  old  maps,  or  Cat  Island,  a  place 
now  of  some  four  thousand  inhabitants,  was  not  really  the 
scene  of  Columbus's  landing. 

Watling's  Island  lies  far  out  in  the  sea.  It  is  cooled  by 
waving  palms,  and  is  full  of  singing  birds.  It  has  a  tall 
lighthouse  tower  painted  white,  which  rises  nobly  over  the 
water.  Its  light  can  be  seen  nearly  twenty  miles.  As  one 
sees  it  one  recalls  the  fact  that  no  friendly  light  except  the 
night  fagots  of  the  Indians  guided  the  eye  of  Columbus, 

Watling's  Island  has  a  population  of  less  than  seven 
hundred  souls,  and  is  not  often  visited  by  large  steamers.  I 
secured  some  fine  specimens  of  "sargasso,"  or  gulfweed,  in 
passing  through  this  sea. 

Over  these  waters  continually  drift  fields  of  this  peculiar 
seaweed.  It  is  of  a  bright  yellow  color  ;  it  shines  brilliantly 
in  the  sun,  and  at  a  distance  presents  a  scene  of  dazzling 
splendor.  The  "berries,"  which  sailors  say  are  poisonous  to 
certain  kinds  of  fish,  are  very  salt.  The  weed  seems  always 
'to  move  west  before  the  trade- winds. 

Over  these  fields  of  shining  drift,  land  birds  came  singing 
to  the  ships  of  the  adventurers  ;  and  on  one  of  the  matted  beds 
a  land  crab  appeared  —  a  sure  indication  of  a  near  shore. 

The  crews  of  Columbus  feared  to  enter  the  Sargasso  Sea. 
They  had  been  told  that  in  sailing  west  they  would  come  to  a 
sea  of  monsters,  and  they  feared  that  these  ocean  meadows 
might  cover  hidden  foes  and  perils.     The  peculiar  beauty  of 


Il6  THE    SEA    OF    THE    DISCOVERY. 

the  Bahama  Sea  is  its  clearness  and  deep  purple  color.  This 
dark  purple  color  is  said  to  be  the  result  of  the  ' '  shadow  of 
deep  waters,"  though  whether  this  is  a  scientific  view  I  do  not 
know.     Under  a  cloudless  sky  the  sea  is  luminous  purple. 

A  cloud  shadow  changes  this  royal  hue  into  emerald. 
One  gazes  down  into  deeps  unknown,  and  sees  the  pairs  of 
dolphins  as  clearly  as  the  white- winged  birds  overhead. 
One's  eye  follows  the  flying-fishes  as  clearly  when  they  go 
down  as  when  they  dart  into  the  open  air.  One  here  dreams 
of  coral  gardens,  of  sea-nymphs,  and  recalls  the  ancient  poets' 
conceptions  of  Oceanus  and  Neptune.  All  fancies  seem 
possible  to  the  creative  imagination  here. 

On  the  islands  of  the  Greater  and  I^esser  Antilles,  or  the 
Columbian  Seas,  grow  the  most  abundant  cocoanut  groves  in 
the  world.  The  trees  are  graceful  and  lofty,  and  as  a  rule  are 
slanted  by  the  winds.     They  bear  a  solid  burden  of  fruit. 

"I  have  counted  from  forty  to  fifty  cocoanuts  on  a  single 
tree  !  "   I  said  to  an  officer  of  my  steamer,  in  surprise. 

"  I  have  counted  a  hundred,"  was  his  answer. 

It  seems  unaccountable  that  so  slender  a  trunk  can  hold 
aloft  in  the  air  such  a  weight  of  fruit. 

The  nuts  are  not  only  numerous  on  a  single  palm,  but  of 
great  size.  A  single  nut  often  yields  a  pitcher  of  cocoanut 
water,  or  two  goblets,  as  we  might  say.  The  palms  of  all  the 
islands  must  be  as  fruitful  to-day  as  when  the  first  voyagers 
saw  them. 

Columbus  speaks  of  flocks  of  parrots  that  ' '  darkened  the 
sun."  Such  flocks  do  not  appear  now,  but  in  every  port  of 
the  Antilles  there  is  a  parrot  market.  The  natives  love  their 
parrots,  and  the  cool  trees  and  drinking-stands  of  the  parrot 
market  make  a  popular  place  of  resort. 

As  a  rule,  the  birds  are  not  confined  in  cages.  They  are 
left  to  climb  about  on  the  booths  in  which  cocoanut  water  and 
cool  drinks  are  sold.  The  people  extend  their  hands  to  them, 
and  the  birds  walk  into  them  for  the  sake  of  gifts,  caresses  and 
admiration. 

Women  kiss  these  parrots,  and  hold  their  heads  close  to 


THE   SEA   OF   THE    DISCOVERY.  II7 

their  lips  when  talking  to  them.  The  birds  are  usually  jealous 
and  ungrateful,  and  have  but  little  to  commend  them  but  their 
art  of  begging  and  their  beauty. 

Nearly  all  cities  in  Latin  America  have  statues  to  Colon, 
or  Columbus.  One  of  the  most  beautiful  of  these  is  in  the 
Paseo  of  the  City  of  Mexico.  These  statues  usually  represent 
the  great  mariner  as  of  most  distinguished  appearance  ;  lofty, 
chivalrous,  poetic. 

The  statue  to  Columbus  in  Nassau  in  the  Bahamas  is  quite 
a  different  conception.  We  find  in  it  the  sturdy  and  traditional 
English  tar.  It  is  what  Columbus  might  have  been  had  he 
been  born  an  Englishman.  As  England  herself  has  been  in 
effect  transported  to  Nassau,  New  Providence,  so  has  art  here 
been  made  to  take  on  her  type  and  expression. 

The  glory  of  the  Bahama  Sea  is  the  night.  A  sudden  hush 
falls  upon  the  purple  serenity  ;  the  sunset  flames,  and  the  day 
is  done.  The  roof  of  heaven  seems  low,  and  the  stars  come 
out  like  silver  suns. 

One  does  not  need  to  look  upward  to  see  the  stars,  but 
down.  The  heavens  are  below  as  well  as  above  ;  the  sky  is 
in  the  sea. 

The  shadowy  forms  of  pairs  of  dolphins  pass  under  the 
transparent  waters  almost  as  distinctly  as  by  day.  The  at- 
mosphere, sky  and  sea  all  blend  as  one  world. 

Amid  such  unimagined  brilliancy  and  splendor  the  soul 
becomes  a  revelation  to  herself  in  the  consciousness  of  beauty- 
worship,  and  thought  takes  wings. 

One  recalls  the  pictures  that  Columbus  gives  of  the  ex- 
pansion of  his  own  soul.  One  here  feels  a  longing  to  attain 
larger  knowledge  and  all  that  is  best  in  life,  and  wonders 
what  new  discoveries  may  await  the  spiritual  faculties  in  wider 
horizons  than  these.  Wherever  he  may  go,  the  tourist  will 
ever  return  in  memory  to  the  Sea  of  the  Great  Discovery.  It 
is  the  paradise  of  the  ocean  world  ;  the  temple  gate  of  the  West. 

H.  Butter  WORTH. 


Housekeeping  on  a  Desert  Island. 

It  was  once  my  lot  to  keep  house  for  a  fortnight  or  so  on  a 
desert  island  among  the  Bahamas ;  a  gentleman  having  been 
good  enough  to  place  his  vacant  house  on  one  of  the  "out 
islands  "  at  our  disposal. 

The  island  was  some  six  miles  long,  with  several  sur- 
rounding "  cays,"  as  islets  are  termed  in  those  regions,  which 
belonged  to  the  same  proprietor.  This  property  lay  some 
thirty  miles  south  of  Nassau,  the  capital  of  the  Bahamas,  and 
as  no  ships  ever  went  there  we  hired  a  steamer  to  take  us  and 
our  belongings  to  our  new  abode. 

The  belongings  were  considerable  on  the  occasion,  for  the 
house  was  unfurnished,  and  there  was  no  shop  or  store  within 
thirty  miles  of  it.  So  we  had  to  take  bedding,  tables  and 
chairs,  pots  and  pans,  eatables  and  drinkables,  household 
necessaries  of  all  sorts,  as  well  as  three  children,  a  governess, 
three  servants,  a  goat  to  give  us  milk,  a  monkey,  a  parrot  and 
two  little  ground  doves. 

We  anchored  in  a  little  harbor  formed  by  some  sheltering 
rocks  ;  our  luggage  and  furniture  were  lowered  into  a  boat  and 
landed  in  a  heap  on  the  sandy  beach.  There  every  one 
shouldered  whatever  he  could,  and  under  a  burning  sun  we 
toiled  up  to  the  house,  which  stood  on  the  top  of  a  hill  and 
was  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off. 

I  was  laden  with  part  of  a  paraffin  stove.  The  children 
insisted  on  dragging  along  the  largest  boxes  and  bundles  they 
could  find.  The  servants  and  sailors  brought  up  the  rear  with 
the  remainder  of  our  possessions. 

We  found  a  negro  and  his  family  in  charge  of  the  house. 
On  our  arrival  they  moved  into  a  hut  close  by,  and  we  pro- 
ceeded to  settle  down  for  the  night  as  best  we  could. 

The  house  was  of  good  size,  and  divided  into  rooms  by 
partitions  that  only  went  half-way  up  to  the  roof,  so  as  to  give 


HOUvSEKEEPING   ON    A    DESERT   ISLAND. 


119 


free  circulation.  It  was  thatched  with  pahii-leaves,  and  had 
a  wide  veranda  running  all  around  it.  Furniture  there  was 
none  except  two  tables  and  a  bench  or  two. 

While  supper  was  preparing  we  spread  out  our  mattresses 
and  made  arrangements  for  the  night.  It  was  not  possible  to 
hang  up  mosquito  curtains  for  the  first  night,  and  indeed  we 


'^^'ip.^i'.^'ii 


On   the    Beach. 


did  not  particularly  care  to  do  so,  for  we  had  been  told  that 
sand-flies  and  mosquitoes  were  unknown  on  Highbourne  Cay. 
We  were  speedily  undeceived.  Our  first  night  there  was 
an  awful  experience.  Millions  of  sand-flies  and  swarms  of 
mosquitoes  made  life  unbearable  and  night  hideous.  We  were 
all  very  tired,  but  no  one  slept  at  all.  As  everything  was 
open  our  moans  and  revilings  were  audible  to  all,  and  we 
compared  our  miseries. 


I20  HOUSEKEEPING    ON    A    DESERT    ISLAND. 

Finally  I  got  up  and,  wearied  and  woebegone,  wandered 
up  and  down  the  veranda,  longing  for  day  and  wondering  if 
life  on  a  desert  island  were  worth  living.  At  last  the  welcome 
dawn  restored  us  to  cheerfulness. 

Instead  of  the  ordinary  tub  in  one's  bedroom,  a  dip  in  the 
warm,  clear,  blue  sea  was  delicious  of  a  morning.  As.  we  had 
the  island  to  ourselves,  we  donned  our  bathing-dresses  in  the 
house  and  walked  down  in  them  to  the  shore,  a  large  palm- 
leaf  doing  duty  as  a  sunshade. 

The  path  to  the  beach  lay  through  the  bush.  Most  of 
the  shrubs  were  in  flower,  and  wax3'-white  blossoms  of  an 
unknown  species  filled  the  air  with  a  delicious  scent.  Near  to 
the  strand  great  trails  of  snow-white  passion-flowers  stretched 
out  their  graceful  length,  and  masses  of  orchids  with  sprays 
four  or  five  feet  high,  of  old-gold,  purple  and  brown  flowers 
swung  gently  to  and  fro  in  the  breeze. 

When  we  lay  down  on  the  coral  sand,  soft  as  satin,  the 
tiny  waves  rippling  gently  over  us,  while  little  silvery  fishes 
swam  lazily  around,  the  miseries  of  the  past  night  were  for- 
gotten, and  it  seemed  as  though  the  world  could  offer  nothing 
more  delightful  than  existence  on  a  desert  island. 

Our  breakfast,  if  in  the  orthodox  style  in  such  places, 
ought  to  have  consisted  of  turtles'  eggs,  breadfruit  and 
cocoanut  milk  ;  but  the  island  afforded  none  of  those  dainties, 
and  we  had  to  content  ourselves  with  eggs  supplied  by  the 
caretaker's  hens  and  the  contents  of  mundane  tins  from 
cooperative  stores. 

The  only  incident  of  an  unusual  nature  connected  with  the 
meal  was  that  my  little  girl,  while  milking  the  goat,  was 
observed  to  have  a  large  centipede  taking  its  morning  stroll 
over  her  hair.  The  creature  was  knocked  off  and  killed  by 
the  trusty  negro  caretaker  before  it  did  any  mischief. 

We  had  sent  down  a  small  sailing-boat  from  Nassau,  so  as 
to  be  able  to  communicate  with  civilization  if  necessary.  The 
sailor  belonging  to  it  acted  as  our  cook. 

After  the  experience  of  our  first  night  we  took  precautions 
against  our  tormentors,  and   afterward  slept  in  comparative 


HOUSEKEEPING   ON   A    DESERT   ISLAND. 


peace.  I^arge  fires  were  lighted  around  the  house.  All  doors 
and  windows  were  tightly  closed  before  sunset,  and  not  opened 
till  the  moon  was  well  up,  when  we  crept  under  the  mosquito 
nets  and  set  our  winged  foes  at  defiance. 

We  still  had  midnight  visitors,  but  of  a  more  agreeable 
kind.  Large  fire-beetles  flew  in  at  the  unglazed  windows, 
lighting  up  the  rooms  with  living  fairy-lights.     Small  birds 

twittered  on  the 
rafters ;  little  crabs 
rattled  gaih-  over 
the  floor  ;  friendly 
geckoes  croaked 
from  the  roof,  or 
busied  themselves 
with  an  attack  on 
the  winged  pests. 

Geckoes  are  liz- 
ards six  or  seven 
inches  long,  of  a 
pale  yellowish  col- 
or, mottled  with 
brown,  with  rings 
of  brown  on  the 
tail.  They  are  gen- 
houses.  They  are 
becoming   full    of 


V/\-^ 


erally  found  in  sheds  and  the  roofs  of 
harmless,  useful,  and  are  easily  tamed 
confidence  when  unmolested. 

After  some  daj^s  our  meals  of  poultry  and  tinned  meats 
became  monotonous  ;  and  hearing  that  iguanas  were  found  on 
a  neighboring  cay,  my  husband  sailed  over  to  procure  some. 
The  iguana  is  a  lizard  which  feeds  on  fruits  and  vegetables. 
It  grows  to  three  or  four  feet  in  length,  and  its  flesh  is  con- 
sidered delicate  eating. 

The  cay  where  creatures  of  this  sort  were  found  was  flat 
and  rocky,  and  the  iguanas  had  their  strongholds  in  the 
numerous  fissures  and  cracks.  Long  search  had  not  been 
made  before  an  iguana  was  seen  to  retreat  into  a  cavity.     A 


122  HOUSEKEEPING    ON    A    DESERT    ISLAND. 

fire  was  lighted  at  the  entrance  to  smoke  him  out.  When  the 
poor  animal  could  stand  the  smoke  no  longer,  a  scurry  was 
heard  and  out  he  rushed  through  the  smoldering  embers,  only 
to  be  shot. 

As  soon  as  a  sufficient  number  had  been  taken  to  supply 
our  present  needs,  one  was  secured  alive  and  brought  back  to 
me.  It  was  about  two  feet  long  —  a  thick,  heavy,  blackish 
lizard  with  a  crest  down  the  back  of  his  neck.  We  put  a  cord 
round  his  body  and  tied  him  to  a  tree  near  the  veranda.  If 
one  went  near  him  he  snapped  viciously  and  sometimes  ran  at 
one  and  seized  anything  on  which  he  could  lay  hold  in  his 
mouth,  just  like  a  wicked  dog. 

His  companions,  whom  we  tried  in  the  form  of  a  pie,  had 
delicate  white  flesh  resembling  chicken  or  veal. 

When  the  stock  of  vegetables  which  we  brought  with  us 
was  exhausted,  the  caretaker  produced  another  edible  novelty 
in  the  shape  of  a  head  of  "mountain  cabbage."  This  is 
supplied  by  a  palm-tree,  a  portion  of  the  trunk  of  which  is 
edible.  These  palms  grow  abundantly  on  Highbourne  and  the 
neighboring  cays.  Wild  hogs,  numerous  on  some  of  the 
latter,  lived  almost  solely  on  these  palms,  tearing  down  the 
smaller  trees  and  ripping  them  open  with  their  tusks  to  get  at 
the  succulent  heart. 

The  cabbage  palm  brought  on  this  occasion  to  us  was  not 
a  good  specimen.  When  cooked  it  looked  like  huge  and  very 
stringy  sugar-cane,  and  tasted  like  succulent  wood. 

I  have  often  since  eaten  mountain  cabbage.  When  of  the 
proper  kind  it  is  extremely  good.  Eaten  raw  it  has  a  nutty 
flavor,  and  makes  an  excellent  salad.  When  cooked  it  looks 
rather  like  very  white  cabbage,  but  the  flavor  is  much  finer 
and  more  delicate. 

Sometimes  we  went  out  fishing  for  our  dinner,  or  collected 
great  pink  conch-.shells  in  the  shallow  water  by  the  shore. 
The  fish  in  them  made  a  capital  soup. 

Our  days  glided  by  in  delightful  monotony.  All  our  meals 
were  ser^^ed  on  the  veranda,  and  there  we  spent  the  heat  of 
the  day,  busy  at  our  various  occupations. 


HOUSEKEEPING    ON    A    DESERT    ISLAND.  1 23 

To  the  full  we  tasted  on  our  desert  island  that  pleasure 
unknown  to  dwellers  in  cities,  and  rarely  experienced  in 
northern  climes  —  the  pleasure  of  mere  existence. 

Hammocks  hung  from  the  beams,  and  a  swing  in  one  was 
very  agreeable.  The  view  all  around  was  charming.  An 
undulating  foreground  of  thick  bush,  composed  of  silver 
palmettos  ;  lignum  vitse  covered  with  bunches  of  azure  flowers  ; 
seven-year  apples  with  star-like  white  blossoms  having  a 
delicious  fragrance,  and  trees  and  shrubs  innumerable,  of 
unknown  names  and  beautiful  foliage  —  sloped  down  to  a 
turquoise  sea  stretching  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  and  dotted 
with  little  gray  and  green  islands. 

Between  the  bush  and  the  sea  lay  a  band  of  coral  beach, 
shimmering  in  the  sunshine  like  a  broad  silken  ribbon  ;  in  the 
foreground  grew  some  fine  "wild  rose  apples,"  as  they  are 
locally  termed ;  their  botanical  name  I  have  forgotten.  The 
foliage  is  very  dark  green,  and  the  branches  bear  clusters  of 
brilliant  scarlet  flowers.  On  the  backs  of  the  large,  leathery 
leaves  beautiful  little  iridescent  green  and  blue  beetles  make 
their  home. 

The  wing-cases  of  these  beetles  are  clear  and  like  glass, 
the  beautiful  colors  showing  through  the  glassy  substance, 
but  disappearing  on  the  death  of  the  insect. 

The  air  was  full  of  perfume,  the  eye  feasted  with  har- 
monious forms  and  glowing  colors,  the  body  refreshed  by  cool 
yet  balmy  breezes  ;  and  we  drank  in  health  and  strength  from 
an  open-air  life,  unhampered  by  conventionalities  and  unem- 
bittered  by  the  struggle  for  existence. 

lyADY    Bl^AKE. 


A  Trip    to   Santo    Domingo. 

Would  you  like  to  get  on  board  a  steamship  for  a  voyage 
to  the  island  of  Santo  Domingo  ?  It  may  be  only  a  dream 
steamship  to  you,  but  it  is  the  image  of  one  in  which  I  did 
make  that  voyage,  some  time  ago. 

I,et  us  suppose  that  I  have  you  all  on  board,  the  anchor 
weighed,  and  the  harbor  of  New  York  fading  in  the  distance. 

Your  first  hour  on  board  will  probably  be  passed  in  putting 
your  books  and  clothes  into  something  like  order.  While  you 
are  about  this,  dinner  will  be  announced,  but  if  the  wind 
happens  to  be  ahead,  the  rolling  and  pitching  of  the  vessel 
may  make  you  think  of  something  very  different,  viz.,  your 
bed,  and  how  to  get  into  it.  You  try  to  do  this,  and  every- 
thing seems  to  be  against  you. 

Your  books  come  tumbling  down  from  the  upper  berth, 
in  which  you  had  laid  them.  Your  travelling  bag  rolls  over 
upon  your  feet  and  hurts  them.  Your  portable  inkstand, 
which  you  imprudently  got  out  in  order  to  write  down  your 
last  impressions  of  New  York,  falls  out  of  the  rack  into  the 
wash-basin,  and  sprinkles  the  premises  with  ink. 

You  feel  very  ill,  and  it  makes  )^ou  worse  to  hear  the  vessel 
strain  in  the  sea,  with  doleful  noises,  as  if  her  wooden  sides 
were  in  pain. 

At  last,  with  the  help  of  steward  or  stewardess,  you  are 
properly  undressed,  and  your  dizzy  head  is  glad  to  rest  upon 
a  hard,  rather  damp  pillow. 

Rock,  rock,  rock.  If  you  are  not  very  ill,  the  motion  soon 
lulls  you  to  sleep,  and  in  the  darkness  of  the  night  you  only 
hear  the  boatswain's  whistle,  piping,  shrill  and  sweet,  and 
the  heavy  steps  of  the  sailors  who  come  up  on  deck  and  go 
below  when  the  watch  is  changed. 

But  we  will  suppose  that  these  rough  days  are  past,  and 
that  our  ship  is  now  carried  smoothly  over  the  tropical  sea  by 


A   TRIP   TO    SANTO    DOMINGO.  1 25 

a  favorable  wind.  The  seasick  folk  are  all  up  and  dressed, 
though  not  in  their  best  clothes.  They  begin  to  laugh  at  their 
late  misfortunes. 

How  bright  the  sky  is,  and  how  warm  is  the  sunshine  ! 
The  thought  of  dinner  becomes  a  pleasant  one,  as  the  sea  air 
gives  the  recovered  patients  a  keen  appetite. 

If  you  look  over  the  side  of  the  vessel,  you  will  see 
quantities  of  gulfweed,  yellow  sprays  that  look  almost  golden 
in  the  blue  water.  You  may  fish  for  this,  if  3'ou  will,  with  a 
long  string  and  a  large  pin  bent  to  serve  as  a  hook. 

When  you  have  caught  a  bit  of  it,  and  have  drawn  it  on 
board,  you  will  find  it  a  coarse,  common  seaweed,  not  worth 
preserving. 

You  will  see  here  and  there,  too,  the  Portuguese  man-of- 
war.  This  is  a  shell-fish  called  a  nautilus,  which  looks  as 
if  it  carried  a  tiny  sail  on  the  surface  of  the  water. 

Shoals  of  flying-fish  dart  out  of  the  sea,  and  fall  back  into 
it.  If  a  few  should  be  caught  on  deck,  they  will  be  found 
very  nice  when  fried. 

Meantime  the  weather  grows  very  warm.  It  is  perhaps 
only  four  days  since  you  came  on  board  wrapped  in  your 
winter  furs  and  wadded  coat.  Now  you  find  summer  clothing 
very  comfortable,  and  a  broad  shade  hat  indispensable,  for 
the  glare  of  the  light  upon  the  water  is  very  trying  to  the  eyes. 

At  sunset  you  see  such  wonderful  clouds  of  every  shape  ! 
There  is  one  which  looks  like  a  party  of  ladies  with  queer 
bonnets,  which  melt  and  change  as  fashions  really  do.  There 
is  a  lion  galloping  after  a  dog.  Now  the  dog  changes  to  a 
lizard,  and  the  lion  to  a  whale.  There  is  a  group  of  fiery, 
untamed  horses,  which  presently  take  the  shape  of  a  monstrous 
giant,  who  loses  his  head,  and  in  turn  melts  into  something 
else  equally  strange  and  unsubstantial. 

As  night  comes  on,  the  sky  seems  to  turn  into  black  velvet, 
studded  with  diamond  stars.  You  can  stay  on  deck  until 
bedtime  without  danger,  and  when  you  bid  your  friends 
good-night,  even  the  voices  of  dear  ones  sound  sweeter  in  the 
soft,  tropical  air  than  elsewhere. 


126 


A   TRIP   TO    SANTO    DOMINGO. 


On  one  of  these  nights  you  pass  a  distant  light  which  looks 
almost  like  a  star  very  near  its  setting.  They  tell  3^ou  that 
this  is  Turk's  Island  light,  and  your  heart  is  cheered  by  the 
sight  of  something  that  is  really  on  land. 

After  this  you  have  still  a  good 
many  miles  to  sail,  but  before  long 
there  comes  a  morning  in  which 
vou  become  aware  that  some- 


thing has  caused  new  excitement  and  activity  on  board  the 
steamer.     Then  comes  a  knock  at  your  door,  and  the  cry  : — 

' '  Porto  Plata  is  in  sight !     Come  out  and  have  a  look  at 
Mount  Isabel !  ' ' 


A    TRIP    TO    SANTO    DOMINGO.  1 27 

You  run  out,  wondering  if  this  can  be  true,  and  are 
astonished  to  see  the  lofty  mountain,  rising  sharp  and  sheer 
against  the  cloudless  sky.  At  its  base  lies  the  pretty,  thriving 
little  town  whose  name  you  have  just  heard. 

The  ship  is  just  steaming  into  the  harbor.  Presently  she 
comes  to  anchor  in  the  roadstead.  Boats  rowed  by  negroes 
come  alongside,  and  the  health  and  customs  officers  come  on 
board. 

There  is  much  shaking  of  hands  and  chattering  in  Spanish 
and  in  English.  You  walk  carefully  down  the  companion- 
way,  and  the  boats  soon  land  you  at  the  long  wooden 
causeway,  which  in  turn  soon  brings  you  to  "terra  firma." 
No  matter  how  well  you  may  like  the  sea,  it  is  a  great  pleasure 
to  find  yourself  on  land  again. 

The  steamer  stays  but  one  day  at  Porto  Plata,  but  this 
gives  you  time  to  see  much  that  is  new  and  amusing.  In  the 
first  place,  you  will  look  at  the  little  carts,  drawn  each  by  one 
bullock,  which  are  driven  down  into  the  shallow  water  to 
receive  the  goods  brought  from  the  steamer  in  large  boats 
called  lighters. 

Then  you  will  like  to  walk  through  the  streets  and  to  look 
at  the  shops,  which  display  many  curious  things. 

Among  other  commodities,  the  fruits  of  the  country  will 
interest  you.  Passing  by  the  market,  you  will  see  heaps  of 
golden  oranges,  which  are  offered  you  by  the  thousand. 
Bananas  are  sold  in  huge  bunches.  You  can  buy  one  of 
these  bunches  for  twenty-five  cents.  It  would  cost  you  five 
dollars  in  New  York  or  Boston.  Then  there  are  sapodillas, 
with  russet  skin  and  orange  pulp  surrounding  a  large  polished 
stone  ;  and  arimoyas,  purple  in  color  and  full  of  milky  juice  ; 
and  sour-sop,  or  guanabana,  of  which  the  juice  only  is  used. 
This  latter  fruit  looks  like  a  soft,  green  pine-apple.  Its  flavor 
resembles  a  combination  of  pine-apple  and  strawberry.  You 
can  squeeze  it  to  obtain  juice,  but  if  you  attempt  to  bite  into 
it,  you  will  find  nothing  but  a  tough  fibre,  which  is  quite 
uneatable. 

In  these  warm  climates,  people  usually  rise  very  early  and 


128  A    TRIP    TO    SANTO    DOMINGO. 

take  a  long  nap  in  the  middle  of  the  day.  So  you  will  find 
that  the  little  town  seems  to  go  to  sleep  between  twelve  and 
one  o'clock  and  to  remain  very  quiet  for  about  three  hours. 
You  will  feel  drowsiness  stealing  over  you,  and  will  do  well 
to  follow  the  general  custom  and  to  take  what  is  called  a 
"  siesta."  You  can  do  this  best  at  the  hotel,  a  bare  and  barn- 
like building,  in  whose  upper  story  you  will  easily  find  a 
cot-bed  with  a  mosquito-netting  hung  over  it.  There  are  no 
glass  windows  here,  or  anywhere  else  in  the  tropics,  but  the 
stout  wooden  shutters  will  make  the  room  dark  enough. 

It  may  be  nearly  four  o'clock  when  3'ou  wake  from  3'our 
slumber,  and  find  the  town  waking  up,  too.  A  fresh  breeze 
now  blows  from  the  sea,  and  the  atmosphere  is  comfortably 
cool.  The  horses'  hoofs  rattle  on  the  pavement,  and  if  you 
look  out  you  will  see  the  pretty  little  animals  going  along  very 
swiftl}^  and  so  smoothly  that  their  riders  are  scarcely  stirred 
in  the  saddle. 

If  you  walk  a  little  out  of  the  town,  you  will  find  plenty  of 
ferns  and  wild  flowers,  and  you  will  see  numbers  of  curious 
yellow  land-crabs  crawling  about  on  the  road. 

But  at  nightfall  you  will  be  warned  to  go  on  board  your 
steamer.  Returning,  and  clambering  up  the  sides,  you  may 
find  the  sailors  amusing  themselves  by  throwing  bits  of  pork 
to  the  sharks,  whose  ugly  pinkish  heads  are  every  now  and 
then  thrust  up  out  of  the  water,  expecting  a  .choice  morsel. 
You  now  understand  why  it  is  better  to  be  on  board  before 
dark,  as  the  boat  which  brings  you  might  upset,  in  which 
case  these  sea-monsters  would  be  very  read}'  to  make  a  hastj^ 
meal,  without  distinction  of  persons. 

In  the  early,  early  morning,  while  you  are  still  sleeping 
soundly,  the  anchor  is  weighed  and  the  steamer  starts  for 
vSamana,  which  will  be  our  next  stopping-place. 

Julia  Ward  Howe. 


SKETCHES    OF    THE     ORIENT. 


^^,gJSis-^| 


In    Chinese    Streets. 

Although  the  streets  of  Chinese  cities  are  narrow  and 
crowded,  yet  traders  of  almost  every  kind  gather  on  each  side 
and  narrow  the  way  still  more  with  articles  spread  out  for  sale. 
Barbers,  fortune-tellers,  public  scribes  and  physicians  are  also 
there,  for  the  Chinese  think  nothing  of  sitting  down  in  the 
street  and  having  their  heads  shaved,  or  any  other  private 
matter  attended  to. 

Then,  too,  in  China  the  best  men  in  a  trade  are  as  likely 
to  travel  from  place  to  place  as  to  keep  shop  in  one  town. 
Their  apparatus  is  easily  moved,  and  after  a  travelling 
barber,  fortune-teller  or  physician  has  exhausted  the  cash  and 
patronage  of  the  dwellers  in  one  street,  he  packs  his  things 
on  his  back,  to  another  part  of  the  town. 

The  fortune-teller  gets  money,  perhaps,  more  easily  than 
any  of  his  fellow  rice-winners,  for  while  they  really  exert 
themselves  by  shouting  their  wares,  he  quietly  sits  behind  his 
table  with  his  ink,  paper  and  instruments  spread  before  him, 
and  the  people  come  to  him  one  by  one.  The  Chinese  all 
believe  in  this  crafty  old  rogue,  and  listen  to  his  wonderful 
tales  of  the  future  with  the  greatest  interest. 

They  always  consult  him  before  a  wedding  or  any  great 
event,  letting  him  select  the  lucky  day.  He  is  also  a  public 
scribe,  and  foretells  the  effect  of  his  customer's  letter,  whether 
it  concerns  love,  law  or  commerce.  He  claims  skill  as  an 
oculist,  too.  The  wise  and  learned  man! — how  bright  and 
watchful  are  his  own  black  eyes  behind  his  large,  round 
spectacles  ! 

The  barber  must  be  a  man  who  is  skilful  with  his  fingers, 
and  has  a  firm,  steady  hand,  for  his  business  is  not  only  to 
shave  the  head  and  chin,  but  to  trim  the  eyebrows  and  eye- 
lashes, to  clean  and  dress  the  eyelids  and  to  manipulate  a  few 
other  organs,  in  a  way  that  causes  one's  blood  to  run  cold. 


132 


IN   CHINESE   STREETS. 


The  Chinese  are  fond  of  eating,  and  the  makers  of  sweet- 
meats, cakes,  tea  and  soup  are  kept  busy  most  of  the  time. 
Their  prices  are  very  low.  A  cup  of  tea  and  a  sweet  rice-cake 
cost  about  ten  cash  —  one  cent  —  and  a  bowlful  of  hot  soup 
only  five  cash.  Some  of  the  cakes  they  have  for  sale  are  far 
from  tempting  to  a  foreigner  —  their  colors  are  so  very  brilliant. 


^  f^-^i^-Ts'Tf  gWm^, 


f^^  y 


General    View    of    Pekin. 


The  seller  of  hot  shell-fish,  by  calling  Fortune  to  his  aid, 
induces  people  to  buy.  He  shakes  a  jar  full  of  sticks  and  in 
high,  metallic  tones  calls  out,  "  Come  try  your  luck  !  only  five 
cash,  and  who  knows  what  may  happen?"  Then  some 
innocent  Chinaman  draws  near,  and  full  of  excitement  pulls 
out  one  of  the  sticks. 

"  Not  much  luck  this  time,"  says  the  seller,  as  he  examines 
the  number  of  the  stick.  "Never  mind;  the  fish  are  good, 
and  fresh  from  the  rocks  this  morning."  Then  he  ladles  eight 
revolting-looking  objects  into  a  bowl,  from  a  mess  of  steaming 
soup  by  his  side. 


IN    CHINESE   STREETS. 


133 


The  peep  and  puppet  shows  are  very  cleverly  managed. 
The  peep  show  is  a  large  box  with  a  series  of  lenses  at  one 
end,  through  which  the  curious  individual  looks,  as  the 
showman  causes  the  pictures  to  come  and  go  at  the  other  end 
b}^  pulling  a  number  of  cords.     These  pictures  have  movable 


Chinese     Banknotes. 


figures,  and  some  of  them  are  of  foreign  places.  The  show- 
man delivers  a  running  commentary  on  each  as  it  passes  the 
spectator's  vision. 

The  puppet  show  is  very  much  like  our  Punch  and  Judy 
show,  only  the  puppets  are  worked  by  the  man's  fingers.  He 
uses  his  forefinger  with  a  clay  head  on  it,  and  his  thumb  and 
second  finger  for  arms,  to  make  an  animated  succession  of 
characters,  for  he  quickly  changes  the  heads  and  gowns  of 
his  actors  and  as  quickly  changes  his  voice  to  suit  their  sex. 


134  IN    CHINESE   STREETS. 

Chinese  girls  patronize  the  flower-venders,  buying  sweet- 
scented  flowers  to  put  in  their  hair  ;  old  women  patronize  the 
seller  of  herbs,  for  medicine  to  cure  their  ailments ;  and 
everybody  patronizes  the  fruit-seller  for  his  cooling  fruits. 
Oranges,  bananas,  grape-fruit,  mangos,  lychees,  mangostines, 
custard  apples,  persimmons,  plums  and  figs,  each  in  its  season, 
are  temptingly  spread  out  in  a  way  which  parched  throats 
cannot  resist. 

Indulgent  papas  and  mammas  will  let  their  children  hear 
the  blind  funny  man  who  imitates  the  cries  of  animals  so  well. 
They  will  also  give  them  a  few  cash,  for  which  the  clever  man 
with  the  colored  paste  and  bamboo  sticks  will  make  anything 
they  ask  him  to  model,  from  a  monkey  to  a  "  foreign  devil." 

Beside  these  are  dentists  with  strings  of  extracted  teeth  for 
advertisements  ;  money-changers  with  piles  of  cash  and  scales 
to  weigh  the  silver  pieces ;  menders  of  umbrellas,  broken 
china  and  locks  ;  knife  and  razor  sharpeners  ;  basket- weavers, 
bronze  merchants,  public  readers  of  the  drama,  story-tellers 
and  ballad-singers,  jewellers,  bird-sellers,  book-sellers  and 
man}'  others. 

All  are  interesting,  all  are  amusing  in  these  queer  streets 
except  the  beggars.  They,  with  their  dirty,  ragged  garments, 
force  upon  you  the  fact  that  they  have  lost  a  hand,  a  foot,  an 
ear,  or  even  a  nose.  They  hold  j^ou  responsible  for  part 
payment  of  the  damages.  Try  to  forget  them  if  you  can  as 
you  saunter  along  the  street, —  they  will  not  forget  3'ou, —  for 
beside  their  constant  pleading  they  will  occasionally  remind 
you  of  their  presence  by  a  pull  at  your  sleeve. 

But  beware  of  throwing  them  some  cash,  for  then  they  will 
never  leave  you.  If  3'ou  go  into  a  shop  they  will  patiently 
wait  for  your  reappearance,  and  then,  having  summoned  all 
their  family  and  friends,  will  escort  you  in  a  vast  body  to  your 
home. 

A.  O.  Huntington. 


Dining    with    a    Mandarin. 

Dorothy  and  I,  after  cruising  along  the  shores  of  the 
"  Morning  lyands,"  found  ourselves  in  Tientsin  for  the  winter 
months,  and  there  Dorothy  had  her  first  Chinese  dinner.  It 
was  given  in  her  father's  honor  by  a  mandarin  in  the  "Old 
City,"  which  is  two  miles  or  more  from  the  large,  handsome 
European  settlement  known  to  foreigners  as  Tientsin. 

This  "Old  City"  is  surrounded  by  an  ancient  wall  so 
thick  that  daylight  is  dim  and  dusky  under  the  quaint  arched 
gateways,  though  an  intense  yellow  sunlight  shines  alwa^^s 
over  that  part  of  China.  With  its  throngs  of  dark,  suffering, 
ignorant  faces,  its  booths,  its  curio  shops,  old  Tientsin  is  well 
worth  seeing,  though  not  a  pleasant  spectacle  in  every  respect. 
But  our  evening  with  the  mandarin  was  gorgeous  with  wealth 
and  Eastern  hospitality. 

Our  invitation  was  written,  I  might  say  "brushed,"  on  a 
big  card  of  bright  red  paper,  such  as  the  Chinese  and  Koreans 
use  for  visiting-cards.  The  invitation  was  of  the  most  cere- 
monious ;  it  was  in  the  manner  considered  most  elegant,  in 
the  form  used  in  addressing  persons  of  the  highest  official 
rank.     I  will  give  the  translation  : 

"  On  the  loth  instant  I  will  wash  my  cups  and  await  3'our 
coming  to  dinner  at  seven  o'clock.     My  card  is  enclosed." 

The  huge  red  invitation  and  the  huge  red  card  were 
enclosed  in  a  huge  red  envelope  addressed  to  "  Great  Man." 
An  assurance  that  the  cups  will  be  washed  has  its  attractions, 
coming  from  a  Chinese  host. 

Dorothy  flew  into  a  dancing  delight  when  she  found  that 
the  "Great  Man's"  daughter  was  included  in  this  glowing 
invitation  from  the  mandarin.  Still  she  limited  her  an- 
ticipations to  looking  on  at  the  queer  feast.  She  declared 
positively  that  she  would  not  be  induced  to  taste  any  of  ' '  the 
heathenish  food." 


136 


DINING    WITH    A    MANDARIN. 


Our  mandarin  kindly  sent  his  own  sedan  chairs  for  us. 
They  were  lined  throughout  with  the  daintiest  white  fur,  and 
liberally  supplied  with  fluffy  white  fur  rugs.     In  each  was  a 


Chinese    Salutations. 


comforting  little  foot-stove  of  carved  brass.  It  was  an  ex- 
quisite way  to  travel.  We  set  out  on  a  bright  moonlight 
night.  Our  party  was  large,  and  our  chair-bearers  were 
constantly  calling  and  yelling  to  clear  the  narrow  streets  for 
our  procession.  Thej^  were  the  more  crowded  because  it  was 
the  night  of  the  "  Feast  of  L,anterns." 


DINING    WITH    A    MANDARIN.  I37 

All  was  bustle  and  hubbub  around  us,  and  Dorothy  had 
her  nose  flattened  against  the  windows  of  her  palanquin  most 
of  the  way,  trying  to  see  everything  that  passed. 

The  lanterns  were  very  beautiful,  and  in  every  form  that  the 
most  fantastic  imagination  could  devise  —  temples,  pagodas, 
roosters,  birds,  fishes,  frogs,  and  curiously  cut  imitations  of 
blocks  of  ice.  The  shops  and  houses  were  illuminated  with 
them,  and  children  and  grown  people  were  carrying  them 
through  the  streets. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  our  sedan  chairs  were  set  down 
before  the  high,  blank,  gray  wall  surrounding  the  mandarin's 
house.  A  double  row  of  serv^ants  awaited  us  at  the  entrance. 
They  held  silk  lanterns  which  seemed  colossal  soap-bubbles. 

Between  the  two  rows  of  ser\^ants  we  passed  into  a  large 
courtyard,  brilliantly  illuminated  with  lanterns  of  a  size  and 
beauty  which  I  have  never  seen  equalled  out  of  China. 

Here  we  were  received  and  welcomed  by  our  host,  who 
was  magnificent  in  a  satin  fur-lined  gown  of  rich  color,  and  a 
cap  tipped  with  the  button  of  his  rank. 

We  were  then  ushered  into  a  room  near  the  entrance,  to 
remove  our  wraps.  Around  the  walls  were  fur-covered  divans, 
and  several  painted  folding  screens.  In  the  middle  of  the 
room  was  a  table,  spread  with  caviare,  anchovies,  buttered 
bread  and  sherry,  of  which  we  were  asked  to  partake. 

After  a  little  nibbling  and  sipping  we  crossed  the  courtyard, 
and  entered  a  long,  large  room  with  small  tables  laid  for 
dinner.     At  each  table  were  seats  for  seven  persons. 

Across  the  end  of  the  room  was  a  platform,  slightly  raised 
from  the  floor,  on  which  were  lamps  upheld  by  substantial 
tables  of  richly  carved  black  wood.  On  the  platform  and  at 
intervals  down  one  side  of  the  room  were  big,  carved,  high- 
seated,  low-armed  black  chairs,  divans,  rugs  and  long  mirrors. 
Few  Chinese  houses  contain  so  handsomely  furnished  an 
apartment.  The  palace  of  the  viceroy  has  none  better  in 
ordinary  use,  for  his  rare  carvings,  embroideries  and  paintings 
are  packed  away  except  when  displayed  on  festival  occasions. 
The  three  tables  were  pretty,  with  small   glass  dishes  piled 


138 


DINING    WITH    A    MANDARIN. 


with  sugared  fruits,  delicious  compotes,  and  nuts  glace.  The 
Chinese  are  fond  of  sweets,  excel  in  making  them  and  eat 
them  before  and  throughout  the  dinner  at  pleasure.  Dorothy's 
appetite  came  back  when  she  saw  the  attractive  tables,  and 


'^%g^^^.  k*«s^ 


Receiving   the   Guests. 

she  resolved  to  taste  even  the 
most  remarkable  dishes.  But 
she  did  not  expect  to  do  more 
than  taste,  for  she  did  not  sup- 
pose she  could  nen^e  herself 
to  swallow  even  one  mouthful. 

We  had   a   "menu,"  but  as  it  was  in   Chinese  we  were  no 

wiser  for  it.      For  this  ignorance  we  were  thankful  afterward, 

when  the  bill  was  translated  for  our  benefit. 

Our  implements  were  ivory  chopsticks ;  large  silver  spoons 

with  a  round  bowl  ;  and  long,  thin,  two-pronged  silver  forks 

that  resembled  a  hairpin  too  closely  to  be  quite  agreeable. 

For  plates,  we  had  small,  deep  saucers,  each  standing  on  a 

sort  of  little  pedestal. 


DINING   WITH    A    MANDARIN.  1 39 

Each  course  was  served  in  a  bowl,  and  placed  in  the 
middle  of  the  table  that  every  guest  might  help  himself  with 
his  own  spoon  or  chopsticks.  With  the  soups  and  spoons  we 
were  tolerably  tidy  ;  but  our  efforts  to  get  the  solids  to  our  lips 
with  chopsticks  sometimes  made  sad  work  with  the  tablecloth. 

Our  first  attack  was  upon  preserv^ed  eggs,  the  greatest  of 
delicacies  to  a  Chinese  epicure.  These  are  boiled,  and  kept 
underground  for  months  and  j'ears,  before  being  brought  to 
table  in  a  sort  of  sweet  pickle,  as  a  luxury.  They  are  as  black 
as  mud,  and  it  required  all  our  ner\^e  to  undertake  them. 

Dorothy  summoned  the  bravery  that  she  calls  up  for  the 
photographer  and  dentist,  closed  her  eyes,  held  her  breath, 
and  nobly  made  her  bite.  To  my  astonishment  and  relief,  she 
kept  it  in  her  mouth.  I  cannot  say  that  any  of  our  party  liked 
the  preser\^ed  eggs,  but  their  flavor  was  not  so  disagreeable  as 
their  appearance. 

After  that  Dorothy  hesitated  at  nothing.  Shark's  fins, 
sheep's  eyes,  antique  eggs  —  she  devoured  all.  Fortunately 
for  her  enjoyment  she  did  not  know  what  she  was  eating, 
lyong  afterward  she  learned  just  how  heroic  she  had  been. 

There  was  one  notable  exception  to  the  array  of  unknown 
dishes.  We  all  recognized  the  edible  bird's  nests  ;  if  we  had 
not  known  what  they  were,  we  should  have  believed  we  were 
eating  a  very  delicious  vermicelli  soup. 

Silverfish  were  good  little  things,  fried  whole,  like  white- 
bait ;  pigeons'  eggs  were  beauties,  gleaming  through  a  smooth 
coat  of  pink  jelly  ;  the  lotus  seeds  looked  like  boiled  chestnuts 
stewed  in  sugar,  and  tasted  as  chestnuts  might  taste  under 
such  insipid  circumstances.  As  for  the  "  fowl,"  "undercut  " 
and  "tame  duck,"  they  were  disguised  bej^ond  recognition. 

The  viands,  take  them  for  all  in  all,  were  not  suited  to  our 
palates.  In  our  hungriest  moments  we  shall  never  think 
longingly  of  our  Chinese  dinner. 

After  the  feast  we  were  invited  into  the  opium  smoking- 
room —  not  to  smoke,  but  to  look  on.  Evidently  it  was  the 
pet  room  of  the  mandarin's  friends.  It  was  luxurious  in 
hangings,  low  couches,  tables  and  smoking  utensils. 


140  DINING    WITH    A    MANDARIN. 

Jugglers  were  brought  in  to  entertain  us  when  we  returned 
to  the  dining-room.  They  produced  immense  bowls  of  water 
as  if  from  vacant  air ;  flowers  grew  up  and  blossomed  before 
our  bewildered  eyes,  and  there  were  marvellous  acrobatic  feats 
by  very  small  boys.  Poor  little  creatures  !  They  worked 
desperately  hard  and  made  painful  contortions. 

Soon  a  wizard-looking  Chinaman  informed  us  in  a  jovial 
manner  that  his  head  was  full  of  wooden  toothpicks.  Taking 
it  for  granted  that  we  doubted  his  statement,  he  proceeded  to 
convince  us.  He  winked  vigorously,  and  toothpicks  seemed 
to  stick  out  from  the  corners  of  his  eyes.  He  pushed  them 
back  again  with  his  thumb,  sneezed  one  partly  out  of  his  nose, 
and  then  sniffed  it  back  again. 

This  was  a  mere  preliminary.  Presently  he  sneezed  at 
frequent  interv^als,  and  each  sneeze  sent  from  his  nostrils,  first 
from  one  side,  then  from  the  other,  the  half-length  of  a  tooth- 
pick. Drawing  it  out  with  his  long-nailed  fingers,  he  would 
exhibit  it  triumphantly.  In  this  deliberate  manner  he  sneezed 
and  pulled  out  ten  or  twelve  toothpicks  from  each  nostril  ! 

Pitiable  Dorothy  !  She  had  gone  through  the  dinner  with 
fortitude,  but  the  toothpicks  were  too  much  !  She  said  that 
never,  never  could  she  use  a  wooden  toothpick  again. 

The  juggling  was  followed  by  a  grand  display  of  fireworks 
in  the  courtyard,  and  in  this  blaze  of  glory  we  departed.  On 
reaching  our  house  in  the  settlement,  we  sat  down  with  relish 
to  a  banquet  of  cold  roast  beef  and  bread  and  butter. 

Alethe  lyOWBER  Craig. 


Corea    and    its    Army. 


The  newest  country,  to  us,  of  the  far  East  is  Corea.  Not 
man)^  years  ago  it  was  practically  unknown  to  the  civilized 
world,  and  it  was  as  late  as  1882  that  Admiral  Shufeldt,  of 
the  United  States  Navy,  acting  as  ambassador,  made  our  first 
treaty  with  its  king.  It  was  through  this  treaty  that  Western 
civilization  was  first    introduced    into  the  Hermit    Kingdom. 

Since  then  embassies  have 
been  sent  from  the  Corean 
court  to  some  of  the  greater 
powers  of  the  world ,  and  a  few 
years  ago  their  strange-look- 
ing representatives,  clad  in 
bright-colored  silk  gowns  and 
wearing  great  horsehair  hats 
on  the  crowns  of  their  heads, 
surprised  Washington. 

Before  this  a  party  of  the 
Corean  nobility  had  travelled 
throughout  this  country  and 
Europe,  and  since  then  many 
noble  Coreans  have  gone 
abroad  and  brought  back  new 
ideas  to  the  king  and  his  people.  Not  long  ago  the  king 
bought  a  steam-launch,  and  he  can  now  sail  from  his  capital 
to  his  seaport  in  a  few  hours  on  the  great  river  Han.  He  has 
introduced  electric  lights  into  his  royal  palace,  and  the 
business  of  the  court,  which  always  takes  place  at  night,  is 
done  under  the  rays  furnished  by  the  inventive  genius  of  Mr. 
Edison. 

The  king  is  doing  all  he  can  to  advance  his  people  in  the 
new  civilization,  and  in  order  that  he  may  understand  what  is 
going  on  in  this  new  world,  he  takes  American  and  English 


142  COREA   AND   ITS   ARMY. 

newspapers,  and  has  them  translated  for  him.  During  my 
visit  to  his  capital  he  was  having  a  volume  of  international 
law  translated  into  the  Corean. 

A  few  years  ago  the  King  of  Corea  resolved  to  reorganize 
his  army.  Being  very  friendly  with  the  United  States,  and 
admiring  the  Americans  greatly,  he  sent  ambassadors  to 
Washington  to  select  four  army  officers,  and  promised  them 
large  salaries  if  thej'  would  come  to  his  capital,  start  a  military 
school,  and  make  American  soldiers  out  of  the  Coreans. 

The  chief  of  the  oflficers  engaged  was  General  William 
McE.  Dye,  who  had  served  with  honor  in  the  late  Civil  War, 
and  who  had  been  employed  by  the  Khedive  of  Egypt  in  the 
organization  of  the  Eg^'ptian  forces. 

The  Corean  army,  prior  to  this  time,  had  been  drilled  after 
the  Chinese  plan.  The  only  arms  used  were  old  matchlocks. 
There  were  very  few  cannon,  and  the  matchlocks  and  bows 
and  arrows  were  the  principal  weapons.  The  army  consisted 
of  about  eight  thousand  men,  about  four  thousand  of  whom 
were  at  the  capital,  Seoul.  Picked  troops  were  kept  about 
the  royal  palace,  and  were  used  to  guard  the  body  of  the  king. 

The  uniform  of  these  soldiers  consisted  of  long  gowns,  and 
the  officers  were  gorgeously  apparelled  in  gowns  of  silk,  the 
sleeves  of  which  were  blood-red,  this  color  being  emblematic 
of  the  old  fashion  of  wiping  bloody  swords  upon  sleeves. 
Each  arm}'  officer  of  note  wore  a  great  embroidered  square  on 
his  back  and  breast  containing  the  picture  of  a  tiger,  whose 
wide-open  jaws  glared  at  the  enemj-. 

General  Dye  first  attempted  to  remodel  the  dress  of  the 
common  soldier.  There  is  a  strong  anti-foreign  faction  in 
Corea,  and  he  had  to  work  very  slowly,  as  this  faction  was 
opposed  to  any  change  in  army  matters.  He  at  last  got  the 
sleeves  cut  down  from  their  bag-like  shape  to  the  width  of  a 
rather  full  party-dress  sleeve  of  an  American  lady,  cut  off  the 
skirt  so  that  it  was  made  into  a  kind  of  blouse,  and  took  out 
four-fifths  of  the  cloth  which  the  Corean  soldiers  had  formerly 
worn  in  their  pantaloons.  He  did  not  attempt  to  make  them 
change  their  hats,  but  armed  them-with  good  guns. 


COREA    AND    ITS    ARMY. 


143 


He  organized  a  royal  military  school,  but  had  as  much 
trouble  to  induce  the  young  nobles  to  adopt  a  soldier-like 
dress  as  Professor  Bunker  has  to  get  them  to  study  without 
the  assistance  of  their  servants.  The  young  noblemen  thought 
they  would  lose  caste  in  changing  their  costume.  As  they 
were  so  high  in  rank,  it  was  almost  impossible  to  punish 
them,  and.  the  American  officers  have  had  hard  work  to  make 


^^j4^ 


The    Corean    Ar 


progress.  The  colors  used  in  the  new  Corean  uniform  are 
different  from  those  of  any  of  the  armies  of  Christendom. 
The  shirt-like  waists  are  of  purple  cotton,  faced  with  red  ;  the 
hats  are  black,  and  there  is  a  bright  red  band  about  them. 
The  pantaloons  are  purple,  and  the  feet  are  swathed  in  great 
white  boots  of  padded  cotton. 

During  my  stay  at  the  Corean  capital  the  native  General- 
in-Chief  invited  me  to  attend  a  review  of  the  troops.  I  rode 
in   a    chair   borne   by   four   big-hatted    Coreans   to   the    drill 


144  CORE  A    AND    ITS   ARMY. 

grounds  at  the  edge  of  the  palace,  and  saw  four  hundred 
soldiers  go  through  all  sorts  of  evolutions,  most  of  which 
seemed  to  be  those  of  the  gymnasium  rather  than  those  set 
down  in  militar}^  tactics. 

The  General  would  give  a  command,  and  every  soldier 
would  lift  his  leg  and  hold  it  at  right  angles  to  his  bod}^  until 
another  word  brought  it  to  the  ground  again.  There  w^as  the 
raising  of  the  arm,  the  throwing  out  of  the  fists,  and  other 
exercises  w^hich  many  school  children  of  the  United  States 
practise  daily. 

There  was  also  some  very  prett}'  marching,  and  the  men 
handled  their  guns  with  no  little  skill. 

After  the  review  was  over,  I  accompanied  the  General-in- 
Chief  to  an  audience  with  the  king,  and  was  much  amused  at 
the  state  of  this  militarj-  man.  Two  servants  walked  with 
him,  one  on  each  side,  holding  up  his  arms,  and  a  whole 
retinue  went  in  front  with  a  band  of  music,  shouting  to  the 
people  to  clear  the  road,  for  the  great  general  and  the  foreign 
dignitaries  were  coming. 

In  battle  Corean  generals  are  always  accompanied  b}^  their 
servants.  When  he  rides  on  horseback,  a  general  has  a 
servant  on  each  side  of  his  war-horse  to  hold  him  in  position, 
and  a  third  stands  at  the  horse's  head  to  hold  the  animal 
during  the  fight,  or  to  lead  it  to  the  advance  or  retreat. 

These  ser\^ants  accompanied  General  Han  to  the  gate  of 
the  king's  audience  hall.  They  left  him  there,  and  he  walked 
alone  across  the  yard,  with  his  head  bent  and  his  sword-hilt 
toward  the  ground.  He  walked  softly  up  the  steps  at  the  left 
leading  into  the  room  in  which  his  majesty  stood,  bent  down 
on  all  fours,  and  bumped  his  head  before  him  as  a  sign  of 
the  reverence  he  felt  for  his  king. 

Then,  rising,  he  stood  with  his  sword  uplifted,  at  the  right 
of  the  king,  while  my  audience  took  place.  At  the  close  of  it 
he  backed  out  from  the  king's  presence  with  bended  head, 
and  so  continued  till  outside  the  gate,  where  he  again  sprang 
into  greatness,  and  had  a  whole  host  of  servants  to  do  him 
homage. 


COREA    AND    ITS    ARMY.  I45 

This  Oriental  formality  runs  through  all  ranks  of  the 
Corean  army.  It  is,  says  General  Dye,  the  ruin  of  the  service. 
He  thinks  that  Corea  will  never  have  good  soldiers  until  the 
officers  learn  military  tactics  by  the  same  hard  knocks  that 
our  officers  do,  and  until  they  put  themselves  more  on  a  level 
with  their  troops,  and  work  with  them. 

The  soldiers  of  Corea  act  as  the  police  of  the  capital.  The 
cit}^  of  Seoul  contains  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
people,  most  of  whom  live  in  one-stor}^  thatched  huts.  A 
great  wall  runs  around  the  city,  climbing  the  mountains  and 
crossing  the  valleys  which  surround  it ;  and  this  wall  has 
a  number  of  gates. 

At  sundown  a  band  of  soldiers,  with  music  much  like  that 
of  the  Scotch  bagpipe,  marches  out  of  the  palace  and  closes 
the  gates  of  the  city,  which,  after  this,  cannot  be  opened  until 
the  morning.  At  this  time  the  king's  militar}^  signal  corps 
springs  into  life  on  the  mountain-tops  about  the  cit}'.  Watch- 
fires  built  upon  them  tell  him,  by  means  of  an  elaborate  code, 
whether  there  is  trouble  or  peace  in  the  different  parts  of  his 
realm. 

This  sj'Stem  of  watch-fires  acts  as  a  sort  of  telegraph  line, 
reaching  from  the  capital  to  the  remotest  districts,  and  at  this 
hour  every  night  fire  after  fire  appears  on  the  hilltops 
throughout  Corea. 

Frank  G.  Carpenter. 


A  Japanese   Garden   Party. 

"Will  you  come  to  my  father-in-law's  place  to-morrow 
afternoon  to  see  the  cherry  blossoms  and  some  old-fashioned 
Japanese  riding  ?  It  is  an  informal  affair,  so  do  not  trouble 
yourself  to  reply  to  this,  and  do  not  bother  with  your  '  frock 
coat '  or  '  high  hat.' — Yours  sincerely,  X." 

The  garden  is  in  the  Shinagawa  suburb  of  Tokyo,  on  high 
land  which  overlooks,  toward  the  northeast,  the  harbor,  and 
is  separated  toward  the  west  from  what  we  should  call 
suburban  villa  residences  by  a  railway  cutting.  The  sloping 
hillsides  across  the  railway  were  one  mass  of  cherry  blossoms, 
save  for  the  breaks  made  by  clusters  of  feathery  bamboos,  or 
by  patches  of  cultivated  ground,  which  increased  the  loveliness 
of  the  whole  scene. 

Modern  things  rarely  come  into  that  lovely  garden.  It 
contains  about  ten  acres,  and  belongs  to  a  wealthy  man,  who 
keeps  it  solely  for  the  recreation  of  himself  and  his  friends. 

There  is  nothing  stiff  or  formal  about  the  place.  The 
house,  almost  hidden  behind  a  hedge  as  one  comes  up  from 
the  main  gate,  is  a  fair-sized  building  of  one  story.  But  a 
Japanese  house,  with  its  open  sides  and  absence  of  furniture, 
seems  to  be  cold  and  empty, —  although  it  is  not  so,  in  fact, — 
and  we  did  not  go  inside. 

The  owner  does  not  live  here.  Indeed,  he  does  not  often 
spend  the  night  in  this  house.  The  caretaker  had  been  per- 
mitted to  raise  a  few  vegetables  in  some  of  the  out-of-the-way 
corners,  where  they  were  not  at  all  obtrusive. 

There  were  tea  shrubs,  but  they  did  not  look  as  if  they 
were  very  carefully  cultivated.  Certainly  no  preparations  had 
been  made  to  pick  the  fresh,  new  leaves,  just  in  their  prime, 
and  there  were  no  "  pans  "  or  appliances  for  dr^'ing  the  leaves, 
as  must  be  done  before  they  can  be  used  to  make  merchantable 
tea.     The  true  use  which  my  friend's  garden  serves  is  to  give 


148  A   JAPANESE    GARDEN    PARTY. 

him  and  his  friends  good  health  ;  and  the  excellent  effect  of 
exercise  and  recreation  is  shown  in  the  owner  of  the  garden  — 
a  hale,  hearty  old  gentleman,  seventy-six  years  of  age. 

He  accepts  the  changed  conditions  of  affairs  in  his  country 
as  something  inevitable  ;  but  I  am  sure  he  sometimes  looks 
back  longingly  to  the  quiet  days  of  Old  Japan. 

Much  has  been  written  about  the  cherry  blossoms  of  this 
country,  and  the  great  fondness  of  the  people  for  making  up 
picnic  parties  in  the  spring  to  spend  the  whole  day  in  one  of 
the  many  places  that  are  famous  for  "  Sakura-no-hana." 
There  is  probably  not  another  country  in  the  world  whose 
inhabitants  will  travel  hundreds  of  miles  to  spend  a  day  or 
two  under  blossoming  fruit  trees,  and  where  so  much  poetry 
is  written  in  praise  of  the  beauty  of  the  flowers  and  about  the 
lofty  sentiment  which  they  inspire. 

There  are  many  cherry-trees  in  my  friend's  garden.  Some 
are  set  in  rows,  and  others  are  planted  alone.  All  are  so 
carefully  trained  and  so  skilfully  trimmed  that,  instead  of 
growing  upward  to  a  great  height,  they  spread  out  like  um- 
brellas.    Thus  the  eye  readily  takes  in  all  their  glorious  beauty. 

When  covered  with  their  double  flowers,  and  before  the 
new  leaves  have  burst  their  buds,  they  make  one  think  of 
snowbanks  just  tinged  a  faint  pink  by  the  feeble  rays  of  the 
setting  sun. 

Usually,  in  Japan,  when  one  goes  to  entertainments  given 
by  a  native  gentleman,  the  host,  or  his  representative,  meets 
the  guests  at  the  gate.  But  on  this  occasion  there  was  no 
such  ceremony. 

The  "mom-ban"  (gatekeeper)  opened  the  gate  for  us  and 
asked  our  names.  Then,  apparently  satisfied  that  we  were 
the  guests  of  whom  his  master  had  spoken,  he  waved  his  hand 
over  the  whole  garden  and  said,  "Go  where  you  like,  the 
place  is  yours  ;  my  master  is  riding  his  horses  up  yonder  !  ' ' 

He  pointed  along  the  principal  drive.  So  we  went  in  that 
direction,  stopping  often  to  admire  some  particularly  handsome 
tree,  or  to  take  in  the  whole  effect  of  the  many  and  different 
features  of  the  landscape.     By  and  by  we  came  to  the  place 


A  JAPANESE  GARDEN  PARTY.  1 49 

where  the  old-fashioned  riding  was  going  on.  Here  we  found 
several  Japanese  gentlemen,  dressed,  excepting  for  their  hats 
and  style  of  wearing  their  hair,  in  strictly  native  costume. 
They  wore  the  curious  ' '  hakama  "  —  a  lower  garment  which 
is  divided  like  a  pair  of  very  flowing  Turkish  trousers  and 
which  is  worn  over  the  ordinary  long  gown.  It  used  to  be 
the  badge  of  the  Samurai  —  the  old-time  soldiers  —  and  of 
higher  classes,  and  was  designed  originally  to  permit  mounting 
a  horse  without  uncovering  the  legs. 

The  course  where  they  rode  was  a  straight  one,  about  two 
hundred  yards  long.  The  ground  was  soft,  and  it  did  not 
ajjpear  that  great  speed  was  desired.  On  the  contrary,  it  was 
evident  that  a  high  trotting  action  was  what  the  riders  sought 
to  show  in  their  steeds. 

The  trappings  were  all  of  the  old  style.  The  cheek-straps 
were  either  broad  pieces  of  brocaded  silk  material,  or  narrow 
strips  of  leather  ornamented  with  silk  embroidery.  The  throat 
latchets  were  of  brocade,  and  had  pretty  pendant  tassels  on 
each  side. 

The  bits  were  like  an  ordinary  snaffle,  except  that  the  rings 
to  which  the  reins  were  fastened  were  much  larger  than  those 
we  use.  The  reins  were  made  of  silk  cloth,  and  very  short, 
so  that  the  rider's  hands  extended  well  forward  on  each  side 
of  the  horse's  neck. 

The  saddles  were  very  large,  and  to  us  clumsy,  for  they 
stood  up  very  high,  and  were  so  thickl}^  padded  that  it  must 
have  been  almost  impossible  for  the  rider  to  get  anything  like 
a  firm  grip  with  his  knees.  To  do  so  was  made  still  more 
difficult  by  the  large,  heavy  housings  required  to  protect  the 
flowing  garments  of  the  rider. 

The  wooden  stirrups  were  broad  and  turned  up  to  catch 
the  toes  after  the  form  of  a  Turkish  shoe,  while  the  leathers 
were  drawn  up  quite  short. 

Altogether  it  seemed  as  if  it  must  be  a  difficult  matter  for 
the  rider  to  keep  his  seat  on  anything  like  a  frisky  horse. 
That  this  was  indeed  the  fact  was  shown  by  the  narrow  escape 
of  several  horsemen  from  going  over  the  head  of  their  mounts 


I50 


A  JAPANESE    GARDEN    PARTY. 


when  the  pony  stopped  abruptly  at   the  end  of   the    course. 
But  in  olden  times  the  Japanese  horse  was  seldom  ridden  at  a 
faster  pace   than  a  walk,  and   there  was  always  a   "  betto  " 
(horse-boy)  at  his  head. 
I  have  seen  pictures  of 
ancient  Japanese  cavalry 


charging  in 
battle,  or  two  sol- 
diers on  horseback 
engaged  in  a  fierce 
fight ;  but  I  am  told 
that  in  reality  there 
was  very  little  fight- 
ing done  by  mounted 
troops.  In  an  actual 
encounter,  they  usually  dismounted  in  order  to  have  both 
hands  free.  My  friends  say  that  it  used  to  be  considered  very 
undignified  for  a  person  on  horseback  to  go  faster  than  a  walk. 
Catching  sight  of  us,  our  host  came  to  bid  us  welcome, 


The    Flowers    of    Japan. 


A   JAPANESE    GARDEN    PARTY, 


151 


and  showed  us  to  seats  in  a  small  pavilion  by  the  side  of  the 
riding-track.  Sweetmeats  and  Japanese  tea  in  tiny  cups  were 
served,  and  small  braziers  of  lighted  charcoal  were  brought 
with  which  to  light  our  tobacco,  in  whatever  form  we  might 
prefer  to  smoke  it. 

Presently  the  owner  of  the  garden  came  to  greet  us.  When 
his  son-in-law  introduced  us,  he  seemed  somewhat  surprised  to 
find  that  some  of  us  could  speak  with  him  in  polite  Japanese. 


Japanese    Kite -Makers. 


I  told  him  that  we  hoped  to  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
him  ride.  This  appeared  to  flatter  him,  and  being  an  en- 
thusiastic old  horseman,  he  mounted  the  prettiest,  gentlest 
beast  of  the  lot,  and  ambled  up  and  down  a  few  times,  attended 
by  two  grooms. 

The  pony  lifted  his  feet  very  high,  and  put  them  down  as 
carefully  as  if  he  knew  who  was  on  his  back,  while  the  old 
gentleman  was  evidently  much  pleased  with  himself,  and  with 
the  opportunity  to  show  the  foreigners  what  the  old  men  of 
Japan  can  do. 


152  A  JAPANESE    GARDEN    PARTY. 

After  we  had  watched  the  riding  for  some  time,  our  host 
invited  us  to  stroll  about  the  garden  for  a  while,  most  con- 
siderately giving  up  the  riding,  which  he  enjoj^ed  greatly,  to 
attend  the  pleasure  of  his  foreign  guests. 

At  a  short  distance  to  the  rear  of  the  riding-place  we  came 
to  a  good-sized  playground,  where  boys  were  plajdng  at  base- 
ball, cricket  and  tennis,  and  some  girls  at  "  tag  "  or  battledore 
and  shuttlecock.  These  boys  were  nearly  all  dressed  in 
Western  fashion,  unlike  the  ladies  and  girls  whom  we  met, 
all  of  whom  were  dressed  in  their  own  beautiful  costume. 

Without  seeming  to  guide  us  in  any  particular  direction, 
our  host  brought  us  to  a  narrow  pathway  leading  through  a 
grove  of  azalea  and  japonica  bushes,  where  we  found  ourselves 
in  front  of  a  lovely  little  summer-house.  On  the  clean,  white 
mats  was  seated  a  very  handsome  Japanese  lady,  whom  our 
host  introduced  as  "  my  wife." 

She  presided  over  trays  of  sandwiches  and  cakes,  and  at 
her  bidding  two  or  three  maid-.ser\'ants  serv^ed  us  with  Chinese 
tea  or  coffee  or  chocolate.  The  pleasure  of  our  little  feast  was 
much  increased  by  the  fact  that  from  where  we  were  seated 
we  looked  over  the  suburb  of  Shinagawa,  across  the  bay 
toward  the  heart  of  the  city  of  Tokyo,  and  our  host  told  us 
of  some  of  his  experiences  in  the  War  of  the  Restoration,  in 
1867  and  1868. 

Some  of  the  boys,  finding  that,  as  a  good  American,  I 
understood  the  game  of  baseball,  appealed  to  me  to  teach 
them  something  more  than  they  knew  of  the  rules  ;  but  by  the 
time  we  had  finished  our  "  go-chiss  " — honorable  feast  —  it 
was  time  to  make  our  way  homeward.  We  could  not  think  of 
hurrying  through  all  the  loveliness  of  the  spring  evening,  and 
from  Shinagawa  to  Akasaka,  in  the  centre  of  Tok^'o,  is  quite 
a  long  Sjibbath  day's  journey. 

Joseph  King  Goodrich. 


The   Jinrikisha   of  Japan. 

The  curious  little  jinrikisha  —  "man-drawn  carriage"  is 
the  literal  translation  of  the  term  —  is  now  a  very  common 
conveyance  in  Japan  ;  but  it  is  quite  a  modern  invention,  and 


/ 


did  not  come  into 
general  use  for  sev- 
eral years  after  its 
first  construction. 

When  the  govern- 
ment of  the  United 
States  began  sending 
ministers  and  consuls 
to  Japan,  no  one  in 
that  country  had  ever 

used  a  wheeled  vehicle  as  a  mode  of  travel  except  the  adored 
Mikado.  When  this  great  personage,  half-potentate,  half- 
pontiff,  visited  his  temple  as  high  priest  to  offer  prayers  for  all 
his  people,  he  rode  in  a  two-wheeled  cart,  closely  screened  by 
a  rich  silken  canopy  and  drawn  by  a  sacred  white  ox. 


e    Jinrikisha. 


154  THE   JINRIKISHA    OF   JAPAN. 

The  wheeled  carriage  was  considered,  throughout  the 
whole  empire,  sacred  to  the  person  of  the  "  god  Mikado,"  and 
none  of  his  subjects  would  ever  have  presumed  to  move  about 
in  such  a  manner.  Even  the  grandest  Daimios,  or  noblemen 
of  the  realm,  always  used  the  "  norimon  " — a  sort  of  sedan 
chair,  lined,  cushioned  and  curtained  with  rich  silk,  and 
carried  on  poles  upon  the  shoulders  of  bearers.  The  common 
people  used  in  the  same  way  the  plain  ' '  kangos  ' '  and  open 
bamboo  chairs. 

At  about  the  period  of  the  beginning  of  the  revolution  in 
Japan  which  changed  the  system  of  government,  a  new 
member  was  added  to  the  family  of  a  United  States  consul  at 
Kanagawa  in  the  person  of  a  little  fair-haired  daughter.  For 
this  child  the  need  of  a  baby-carriage  was  felt,  but  such  a 
thing  was  then  an  unattainable  object  in  that  far-off  land.  If 
the  baby  was  to  have  a  carriage,  something  must  be  invented. 

The  consul  looked  about,  and  was  so  fortunate  as  to  find  a 
pair  of  light  iron  wheels  in  the  shop  of  a  blacksmith  in 
Yokohama,  to  whom  they  had  been  given  by  the  captain  of  a 
trading  vessel,  who  had  noticed  the  smith's  eager  curiosity 
concerning  them.  A  carpenter  was  next  commissioned  to 
make  a  carriage  body  —  after  a  pattern  given  him  —  to  set 
upon  the  wheels. 

At  the  time,  the  United  States  ship  "Wyoming"  was 
stationed  in  the  port  of  Kanagawa.  Commander  McDougall, 
of  this  ship,  took  an  interest  in  the  construction  of  the  baby- 
carriage  ;  and  when  the  carpenter  had  satisfactorily  completed 
his  work  he  caused  the  vehicle  to  be  taken  on  board  the 
"Wyoming,"  where  it  was  prettily  painted  and  decorated. 
On  the  dashboard  was  a  representation  of  the  American 
shield,  with  the  eagle  holding  the  darts  in  his  claws,  and  on 
each  side  and  at  the  back  was  a.pretty  sea  view. 

Then  the  cart  was  brought  on  shore  and  put  to  its  intended 
use.  The  little  American  lady  took  delighted  daily  airings  in 
it,  and  it  proved  more  than  a  nine  days'  wonder  to  the  curious 
native  eyes  that  had  never  before  seen  any  one  so  conveyed. 

When  the  little  one  for  whom  it  had  been  constructed  left 


the;   JINRlKISHA    OF   JAPAN.  I55 

Japan  to  accompanj^  her  parents  to  their  native  land,  the 
curious  little  man-power  carriage  was  given  to  the  carpenter 
who  had  so  ingeniously  done  his  part  in  its  construction. 

About  this  time  the  hitherto  unseen  Mikado  came  forth 
from  his  sacred  seclusion  and  isolation.  No  longer  assuming 
divine  attributes,  he  appeared  as  a  man  before  his  people,  to 
rule  as  emperor,  seeing  and  understanding  his  people  and 
their  needs.  The  sacred  white  ox  was  no  more  harnessed  to 
the  two-wheeled  sacred  car,  to  be  sacredly  used  by  the 
Mikado,  but  both  at  once  fell  into  disuse. 

The  carpenter  perceived  that  it  would  no  longer  be  deemed 
a  profanation  to  set  up  in  the  business  of  jinrikisha-making. 
Taking  as  a  model  the  vehicle  which  had  been  so  cleverly 
invented  for  the  pretty  American  baby,  the  man  set  at  work 
making  "man-drawn  carriages."  But  he  made  the  seat  of 
each  vehicle  wide  enough  for  two  grown  people  to  sit  upon, 
and  lowered  the  high  front  so  that  it  would  be  easy  to  step  in 
and  out. 

The  new  mode  of  riding  became  very  popular.  The  little 
low,  open  carriage  had  a  great  advantage  over  the  old- 
fashioned  Japanese  sedan  chairs  in  point  of  comfort  to  the 
occupant  and  of  ease  to  the  runner.  This  was  quickly 
perceived  by  the  carried  and  the  carriers,  and  in  a  short  time 
the  demand  for  the  new  vehicles  was  so  great  that  the  business 
of  their  manufacture  became  an  important  industrj-,  and  is 
now  extending  rapidly  throughout  the  empire. 

The  clever  Japanese  carpenter  who  made  the  first  babj- 
carriage  jinrikisha  ever  used  in  Japan  has  become  possessed 
of  a  comfortable  fortune,  which  enables  him  to  enjoy  his  old 
age  in  peace  and  competence. 

Martha  C.  M.  Fisher. 


A  Japanese   Home. 


One   da}^  Mrs.  Takamino,  who    had   been   calling  at  our 

house,  asked  me  if  I  would  not  spend  the  next  day  with  her. 

I  accepted  her   invitation  at   once,   as   there   was   nothing  I 

enjoyed  so  much  as  spending  a  day  or  taking  any  meal  at  a 

real   Japanese    home.     Mrs.   Takamino 

was  an  intimate  friend  of  ours,  so  I  told 

her  I  should  go  early  and  help  her  with 

her  housework. 

I  started  the  next  morning  directly 
after  breakfast,  going  in  a  quaint  little 
carriage  called  a  jinriki.sha. 

This  carriage  is  something  like  an 
old-fashioned  baby-carriage,  having  only 
two  wheels,  but  is  much  larger;  the 
jinrikisha  man  jumped  in  between  the 
shafts,  and  away  we  went  at  a  livelj^  rate. 
It  was  a  pretty  drive  to  Mrs. 
Takamino's,  for  after  going  through 
one  or  two  bus}'  streets,  we  turned  off 
on  a  road  leading  to  the  country,  where 
everything  was  quiet  and  peaceful. 
We  met  little  children  on  their  way  to  school,  with  their  books 
done  up  in  a  big  cotton  handkerchief  and  hung  over  their 
backs.  Some  of  the  farmers  were  bringing  in  their  vegetables 
to  the  markets,  others  going  to  work  in  the  rice-fields.  Here 
and  there  you  would  see  a  woman,  with  her  baby  strapped  on 
her  back,  opening  her  little  shop  ;  for  while  the  men  are 
away  the  women  are  also  earning  a  little  at  home  bj^  having  a 
few  trifles  for  sale  :  some  kind  of  candy  or  cake,  a  few  toys, 
bright-colored  hairpins  ;  such  little  objects,  indeed,  as  would 
attract  people's  eyes  as  they  were  passing  b3\ 

I  reached  Mrs.  Takamino's  at  last.     She  heard  me  coming. 


A   JAPANESE    HOME. 


157 


and  was  at  the  door  all  ready  to  receive  me.  After  I  said 
good  morning,  I  sat  down  on  the  steps  to  take  off  my  boots, 
for  in  Japan  no  one  ever  enters  a  house  with  his  shoes  on. 

The  house  is  not  large,  only  five  or  six  rooms,  these 
opening  into  each  other ;  for  you  never  see  shut-up  rooms  in 
Japan,  as  you  do  in  our  country,  but  one  can  look  right 
through  the  house.  The  front  of  this  house  opened  into  a 
pretty  little  garden,  while  from  the 
back  you  looked  far  away  over  the 
rice-fields,  with  here  and  there  a 
picturesque  farmhouse. 

Mrs.  Taka- 
mino  could  not 
speak  a  word 
of  English,  so 
with  what  lit- 
tle Japanese  I 
knew,  we  had 
a  funny  time 
getting  along. 
I  watched  her 
do  her  house- 
work, which 
consisted  of 
sweeping      the 

rooms,  dusting  a  little,  and  one  thing  in  particular  that  I 
remember  well,  was  a  dress  she  washed.  This  was  ripped  to 
pieces,  and  after  being  washed  was  stretched  on  a  board  and 
put  in  the  sun  to  dry.  This  is  not  the  way  they  wash  all  their 
dresses,  only  the  nicer  ones  ;  those  of  cotton  are  washed  as 
we  wash  ours. 

About  one  o'clock  the  son  and  daughter  came  home  from 
school  ;  they  both  spoke  English  very  well,  so  it  made  it  much 
pleasanter  for  me.  We  had  a  very  merry  dinner,  all  sitting 
on  the  floor,  with  our  trays  in  front  of  us.  On  each  one  of  the 
trays  were  four  little  dishes,  having  in  them  rice,  fish,  soup 
and  vegetables.     I  had  learned  how  to  use  chopsticks,  and  so 


t5S  A  JAPANESE    HOME. 

got  on  very  nicely  and  enjoyed  my  dinner  very  much.  After 
dinner  the  daughter  played  for  me  on  her  samisen,  an 
instrument  something  like  a  guitar.  I  asked  her  if  she 
would  not  teach  me  some  little  tune,  but  I  made  such  poor 
work  of  it  that  I  soon  gave  up 
the  attempt.  After  putting  her 
samisen  away  she  brought  out  her 
fancy  work,  which  interested  me 
very  much.  She  was  making 
raised  figures  out  of  crape.  She 
let  me  try  it,  but  it  was  slow  work 
for  me,  though  I  made  one  very 
pretty  flower  and  had  it  all  done 
by  supper- time. 

After  supper  we  played  some 
Japanese   games;    two  of  them  I 
The  samisen.  reniembcr  well,  one  being  battle- 

dore and  shuttlecock,  which  is  very  much  like  our  game,  and 
the  other  like  our  jackstones,  only  in  Japan  they  play  with 
little  crape  bags  filled  with  rice.  This  game  is  much  more 
elaborate  than  ours,  having  much  more  to  go  through  with 
before  the  game  is  finished. 

My  jinrikisha  man  came  for  me  only  too  early,  I  thought, 
but  as  it  was  growing  dark  I  had  to  say  good-by  to  my 
kind  friends  who  had  made  the  day  so  pleasant  for  me, 
and  with  promises  that  I  would  come  again  very  soon,  I 
started  off. 

My  ride  home  was  very  different  from  the  one  in  the 
morning,  for  then  everything  was  bright  and  cheerful,  and 
now  it  was  dark,  so  dark  we  could  hardly  see  our  way  along, 
and  so  quiet  were  the  streets  there  seemed  to  be  a  hush  over 
everything. 

Here  and  there  you  could  see  into  a  house,  where  a  dim 
light  was  burning,  with  one  or  two  people  sitting  round  it; 
but  most  all  the  houses  were  dark.  It  being  a  hot  night, 
every  one  was  out-of  doors,  sitting  in  front  of  their  houses, 
some   asleep,  tired  out  with   their  day's  labor,  while  others 


A  JAPANESE    HOME. 


159 


were  talking ;  once  in  a  while  the  stillness  would  be  broken 
by  the  sound  of  some  one  playing  on  a  musical  instrument. 

I  soon  reached  the  busy  streets,  where  things  looked  much 
more  lively.  All  the  shops  were  lighted,  and  all  along  the 
way  were  hucksters,  sitting  on  the  ground  with  their  wares 
displayed  before  them.  Some  had  little  shows  and  games, 
and  a  crowd  of  little  eager  faces  gathered  around  them; 
others  had  fruit,  flowers,  shoes,  hardware,  old  pottery,  and  all 
sorts  of  things.     And  yet  among  this  large  crowd  there  was 


no  loud  talking  and  laughing,  no  pushing  and  shoving  to  be 
the  first  to  see  this  or  that.  Everything  was  quiet  and 
peaceful,  and  I,  a  foreigner,  riding  among  them,  was  treated 
in  the  most  courteous  way.  No  one  laughed  at  me  or  called 
me  names.  Many  of  them  turned  to  look  at  me,  some  of  the 
girls  smiling  so  pleasantly. 

No  one  need  ever  be  afraid  to  go  through  the  streets  of 
that  great  city  of  Tokyo  at  any  time,  night  or  day. 

E.  O.  Morse. 


A    White    Elephant. 


Siam  and  its  Royal  White  Elephant. 

Fifty  years  ago  little  more  was  known  in  America  of  the 
Kingdom  of  Siam  beyond  the  fact  that  it  was  the  native  land 
of  the  Siamese  twins,  and  in  a  vague  way  we  ha.d  heard  that 
the  people  of  Siam  worshipped  white  elephants. 

But  after  the  Sepoy  Rebellion  in  India,  English  civilization 
made  its  way  through  India,  on  to  Burmah,  and  opened  the 
closely  sealed  ports  of  Siam  and  Cochin  China.  We  then 
began  to  learn  something  of  the  "Heart  of  Farther  India." 
Now  the  flood  of  Europeans  pouring  into  the  South  Pacific 
Islands  is  day  by  day  carrying  Western  manners  and  ideas 
into  the  shut-in  kingdom,  and  the  wise  policy  of  the  young 
king,  Chulalongkorn, —  Royal  Hair  Pin,  as  the  name  means 
in  Siamese, —  is  encouraging  the  inundation. 

The  late  king,  Maha  Mongkut,  having  learned  of  England's 
power  and  greatness  from  his  neighbor,  Hindostan,  chose  an 
Englishman  for  one  of  his  counsellors,  and  imported  an 
Englishwoman  as  governess  in  his  harem.  It  is  owing 
doubtless  to  the  influence  of  these  officials  that  the  new  king, 
though  refusing  to  change  the  State  religion,  has  not  only 
opened  the  door  of  the  kingdom  for  English  education,  but  is 
encouraging  the  schools  by  royal  gifts  and  patronage. 

Siam  has  an  exquisite  flora.  There  the  citron  and  cocoa- 
nut  are  fairest  of  fruit.  Yet  with  all  its  wondrous  vegetation 
it  has  not  the  tropical  heat  that  annuls  the  beauty  of  India. 
The  climate  is  delicious.  The  Bay  of  Bengal  on  the  one  side 
and  the  Gulf  of  Siam  on  the  other  keep  this  kingdom  refreshed 
with  sea-breezes. 

Bangkok,  the  capital,  built  out  into  the  river  Menam, 
which  is  the  great  artery  of  the  country,  is  called  the  Venice 
of  the  East.  Indeed,  it  is  even  more  of  a  water  city  than  the 
Queen  of  the  Adriatic,  for  while  Venice  has  its  foundations 
on  solid  ground,  Bangkok  actually  floats  on  the  water.     Huge 


1 62  SI  AM    AND    ITS    ROYAL    WHITE    ELEPHANT. 

bamboo  rafts  are  constructed,  and  lashed  together  with 
enormous  chains,  and  on  these  the  houses,  shops,  and  even 
the  gardens  are  built. 

We  chanced  to  arrive  at  Bangkok  on  a  feast-da3^  The 
river  up  which  we  sailed  to  reach  the  cit}'  makes  so  many 
sharp  turns  that,  although  the  distance  was  not  far,  the  time 
that  we  occupied  in  sailing  it  was  long,  and  it  was  night  when, 
in  making  a  long  tack  that  carried  us  past  a  point,  the  glories 
of  the  floating  city  burst  upon  us. 

A  mar\^ellous  panorama,  an  illuminated  world,  seemed 
spread  out  before  us.  Thousands  of  fire  globes  shed  their 
brilliant  light  over  the  broad  bosom  of  the  water  ;  and  on 
either  side,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  there  was  an  endless 
succession  of  lights,  of  every  imaginable  color,  shade  and 
shape,  forming  an  illumination  such  as  only  Eastern  ingenuity 
can  devise. 

Every  floating  house  was  decorated  with  the  twinkling 
eyes  ;  the  yards  and  masts  of  every  ship  and  even  the  tiniest 
boat  sparkled  with  the  brilliant,  colored  fire,  while  the  more 
distant  pagodas,  palaces  and  minarets  were  a  blaze  of  glory. 
It  was  the  great  annual  festival  of  Siam  —  the  Feast  of 
Lanterns  —  and  had  we  arrived  one  day  later  we  should  have 
missed  this  fairy-land  spectacle. 

The  batis,  or  temples,  of  which  there  are  one  hundred  in 
the  city,  are  built  on  the  river-bank.  Here  also  stand  the 
king's  palaces,  the  houses  of  the  foreign  consuls,  and  the 
residences  of  the  nobility  of  the  kingdom.  During  the  last 
century  the  capital  of  Siam  stood  on  the  river-bank  above  the 
position  of  the  present  capital  ;  but  the  annual  overflow  of  the 
river  caused  such  a  deposit  of  mud  that  the  miasma  from  it  at 
low  tide  made  terrible  havoc  among  the  dense  population,  and 
frightful  epidemics  of  cholera  occurred  every  year. 

So  the  present  city  was  built  lower  down  the  river  on  rafts 
bound  together.  These  rafts  are  arranged  in  groups,  each 
containing  five  or  six  rafts,  and  are  moored  to  great  poles 
driven  in  the  bed  of  the  river.  The  change  of  location  has 
effectually  relieved  the  people  of  Bangkok  of  the  presence  of 


SIAM    AND    ITS    ROYAL    WHITE    EI.EPHANT.  163 

the  cholera,  but  they  have  only  exchanged  one  disease  for 
another,  for  the  dampness  of  the  city  creates  rheumatic  fever. 
Of  any  appliances  for  curing  disease  the  inhabitants  are 
pitifully  ignorant,  and  our  medical  missionaries  are  doing  a 
great  work  for  them,  in  that  respect,  especially,  of  course, 
among  the  poorer  class. 

The  houses,  even  the  few  that  are  on  the  bank,  and  of  course 
the  floating  ones,  have  no  communication  with  each  other  by 
land,  not  even  by  a  footway,  as  in  Venice,  so  all  the  travelling 
about  the  city  is  done  by  boat.  The  thousands  of  little  canoes 
used  for  carrying  people  about  are  each  managed  by  one  person, 
generally  a  young  girl,  for  the  Siamese,  unlike  other  Eastern 
nations,  do  not  shut  up  their  women,  and  they  present  an 
interesting  sight. 

Almost  every  conceivable  commodity  is  borne  in  these 
little  boats  —  rice,  fish,  fruit,  flowers  —  and  every  sort  of 
handicraft  is  carried  on  in  them.  Here  you  may  see  a  Chinese 
manufacturing  rich  soup  over  a  hissing  kettle  and  delivering 
it  to  his  customers  ;  another  person  is  baking  bread  ;  another, 
under  his  gaily  striped  awning,  i.s-  weaving  gold  thread  into 
embroidery,  while  a  mite  of  a  child  manages  the  little  boat. 
The  scenes  in  the  water  streets  are  always  new  and  interesting. 

There  is  a  queer  sense  of  insecurity  in  "shopping"  in 
these  floating  bazaars  which  gives  an  added  zest  to  the  picking 
up  of  "  antikas,"  as  the  natives  call  curios  of  all  sorts. 

Yet,  though  Western  ideas  are  flooding  the  country,  and 
Christian  missionaries  there  come  and  go  freely,  except  among 
the  lower  classes  these  agents  of  enlightenment  have  had  no 
effect  upon  the  established  religion  of  Siam,  which  religion  is 
a  kind  of  Buddhism  — or  rather  Pantheism,  for  it  is  Buddhism 
without  a  god.  The  last  incarnation  of  Buddha,  Gautama, 
was,  they  say,  absorbed  into  the  bosom  of  nature  more  than 
five  hundred  years  before  Christ. 

Sir  Edwin  Arnold  has  told  us  of  the  "  Light  of  Asia,"  and 
in  pleased  recognition  of  what  the  English  poet  has  done  to 
make  known  to  the  world  the  god  of  Siam,  the  king  has 
conferred  on  him  the  distinction  known  as  the  Order  of  the 


l64  SIAM    AND    ITS    ROYAL    WHITE    ELEPHANT. 

White  Elephant.  The  sanctity  which  the  Siamese  attach  to 
the  white  elephant  is  not  difficult  to  understand,  when  we 
remember  that  the  doctrine  of  the  transmigration  of  souls  is 
one  of  the  most  vital  points  in  the  Buddhistic  religion,  and 
that  the  white  elephants  are  supposed  to  be  tenanted  by  the 
souls  of  their  dead  kings.  The  king  may  well  pay  great 
attention  to  any  white  elephant  that  he  is  fortunate  enough  to 
secure  —  the  animal  is  very  rare  —  for  he  thinks  that  he  is 
taking  care  of  his  future  home. 

We  read  in  ancient  history  of  how  eagerly  the  white  bull 
Apis  was  sought  by  the  Egyptians,  and  what  feasting  and 
rejoicing  they  made  when  he  was  found.  There  are  much  the 
same  demonstrations  of  joy  in  Siam  when  a  white  elephant  is 
captured. 

One  of  the  most  splendid  temples  near  the  city  is  set  apart 
for  his  highness,  the  Royal  White  Elephant.  It  stands  in  a 
garden  of  palms,  in  which  grow  thickly  the  tuberose,  honey- 
suckle, passion-flower,  and  the  chempa,  the  national  flower  of 
Siam.  In  this  garden,  at  the  time  of  my  visit  to  it,  a  dozen 
priests,  dressed  in  gamboge-dyed  robes,  were  weaving  wreaths 
and  chanting  praises  to  the  great  white  beast,  which  stood 
lazily  waving  his  trunk,  and  helping  himself  to  leaves  and 
branches  from  the  giant  heaps  placed  before  him,  but  paying 
no  attention  to  the  homage  heaped  upon  him. 

He  seemed  to  me  to  be  second  in  size  only  to  Barnum's 
mammoth  Jumbo,  and  his  skin  was  white,  smooth  and  spotless, 
wnth  a  large  scarlet  rim  around  each  of  his  e3'es. 

His  stall  was  a  large,  high  room,  with  windows  around  the 
top  ;  the  floor  was  covered  with  a  mat-work  wrought  of  pure 
chased  gold,  each  interwoven  plait  being  about  half  an  inch 
broad  and  as  thick  as  a  five-dollar  gold-piece.  On  this  costly 
carpet  the  unwieldy  animal  stood  and  stamped  his  great  feet, 
with  no  more  care  for  its  magnificence  than  if  it  had  been  his 
native  green  turf,  "wearing  out,"  as  some  one  said,  "  as  much 
gold  in  a  year  as  many  hard-working  people  gain  in  ten." 

Several  priests  were  constantly  engaged  in  cleaning  the 
floor,  in  piling  up  fresh  herbage  for  his  majesty  to  feast  on, 


SIAM    AND    iTvS    ROYAL    WHITE    ELEPHANT.  165 

and  in  polishing  the  tarnished  spots.  Other  persons,  pro- 
fessional goldsmiths,  were  taking  the  worn  strips  out  of  the 
golden  carpet,  and  replacing  them  with  new,  shining  ones. 

"Oh,"  said  one  of  the  party,  "if  we  only  had  that  gold 
for  our  mission  work  ! ' ' 

The  man  who  was  so  fortunate  as  to  entrap  this  sacred 
animal  was  rewarded  with  a  hereditary  pension  of  one  thousand 
ticals,  and  was  raised  to  a  very  high  office  in  the  kingdom  — 
that  of  water-carrier  to  the  elephant.  The  jars  in  which  the 
water  is  transported,  and  the  troughs  from  which  the  sacred 
animal  drinks,  are  of  pure  gold,  covered  with  filigree  work. 

As  a  god,  the  white  elephant  is  horrible,  but  regarded 
merely  as  a  royal  toy,  each  monarch  to  his  taste.  The 
sovereigns  of  the  civilized  world  spend  vast  sums  of  money 
in  pomps  and  vanities,  and  in  the  gratification  of  sensual 
appetites.  Tiberius  had  his  Capri,  Napoleon  his  ambition,  to 
which  he  sacrificed  millions  of  treasure  and  uncounted  human 
lives,  and  why  should  not  the  King  of  Siam  as  well  have  his 
elephant  ? 

Sara  Lee. 


i-N 


Housekeeping  in  East  India. 

There  are  so  many  points  of  difference  between  a  house 
in  Peepulpore,  Bengal  Presidency,  and  a  house  in  —  Boston, 
Massachusetts,  for  example,  that  I  quite  expect  to  have  some 
trouble  in  making  you  feel  at  home  in  this  article.  Neither 
up-stairs  nor  down-stairs  nor  in  my  lady's  chamber  is 
there    any  familiar   corner  where    I  might  install  the  reader 


while  I  explain  the  rest  to  him.  Yet  certainly  there  are  chairs 
in  the  drawing-room,  wicker  chairs  —  we  have  not  acquired 
the  Oriental  habit  of  sitting  on  the  floor.  I  can  ask  you  to 
take  one. 

There  is  even  a  rocking-chair,  said  to  be  American  ;  but  it 
has  a  straight  back  and  a  narrow  seat,  and  only  about  six 
inches  of  ' '  rock ' '  altogether  ;  and  the  3'ellow  bow  on  the  upper 
left  hand  corner  does  not  make  up  for  these  things.  It  never 
saw  America  ;  it  was  made  in  England,  where  they  understand 
umbrellas  better,  perhaps. 

The  others  have  all  come  from  the  China  bazaar.     They 


HOUSEKEEPING    IN    EAST    INDIA. 


167 


are  coarsely  woven  of  cane,  and  the  Chinaman  who  obtained 
a  dollar  apiece  for  them  to  begin  with,  cheated  me.  Any  one 
of  them  will  bear  you  if  you  are  not  too  heavy,  but  I  do  not 
like  to  see  the  commissioner,  who  weighs  one  hundred  and 
eight}^  pounds,  imperil  the  dignity  of  the  government  of  India 
upon  them. 

Under  one  or  two  I  observe  from  where  I  sit  little  piles  of 
sawdust  dropped  on  the  floor.  That  is  the  work  of  the  beetles. 
And  the  white  ants  are  reported  from  behind  the  bookcase 
and  the  red  ants  have  been  clearing  out  the  sideboard,  and 

last  night  a  cockroach 
of  refined  tastes  ate 
three  fingers  of  my  last 
and  longest  pair  of 
evening  gloves. 

These  things  would 
worry  one  in  America  ; 
one  would  arrive,  per- 
haps, at  the  heroic 
remedy  of  kerosene. 
Here  it  is  not  the  cus- 
tom to  worry — besides, 
nobody  has  the  ener- 
gy. It  is  the  custom  to 
call  the  house-bearer, 
who  has  charge  of 
the  bookcase,  and  the 
khansamah,  who  has 
charge  of  the  side- 
board, and  the  ayah, 
who  has  charge  of  the  gloves,  and  say  to  them  in  the 
vernacular,  "What  kind  of  work  is  this,  O  poor-sort-of- 
person  ?" 

If  after  that  the  ants  and  the  cockroaches  continued,  it 
would  be  proper  to  address  the  bearer  as  a  man  without 
shame,  and  the  khansamah  as  the  son  of  an  owl,  and  the  ayah 
as  a  thriftless  one,  and  to  fine  them  all  three  cents  of  their 


l68  HOUSEKEEPING    IN    EAST    INDIA. 

wages,  which  would  linger  longer  in  their  memories  than  any 
form  of  vituperation.  If  thereafter  they  did  not  mend  their 
ways,  the  bearer  and  the  khansamah  and  the  ayah  would  all 
get  "chute,"  which  is  permission  to  depart;  and  before  the 
sun  went  down  behind  the  banians  their  places  would  be 
taken  by  others  worthier  than  they. 

The  doors  stand  open  all  day  long  when  it  is  not  too  hot, 
from  room  to  room,  from  house  to  garden. 

For  privacy  they  are  hung  with  what  we  call  portieres  in 
civilization,  and  "purdahs"  in  India,  of  such  stuff  as  one  can 
afford.  Some  people,  who  believe  in  encouraging  native 
industries,  have  green  and  purple  stripes  ;  but  I  think  that  is 
being  rather  unnecessarily  public-spirited.  I  have  Japanese 
bamboo  and  bead  screens  in  the  drawing-room  instead  ;  but 
then  I,  being  guided  and  governed  by  a  pink  wall  cut  in  two 
by  a  green  grape-vine,  am  not  fairly  typical. 

There  is  matting  on  the  floor,  greenj^-brown  matting 
woven  in  great  stripes  by  cross-legged  Bengalis  in  a  hut  in 
the  bazaar ;  and  there  are  palms  in  the  corner  and  orchids 
in  the  windows  and  photographs  of  home  upon  the  wall. 

A  long,  narrow  board,  with  a  broad  flounce  to  it  like  a 
lady's  petticoat,  hangs  from  the  roof  across  the  middle  beams. 
That  is  the  punkah,  put  up  last  week,  for  it  is  almost  the  first 
of  April  and  the  "ghurrumka-din"  ("days  of  heat")  are 
upon  us.  The  punkah-wallah — the  native  who  operates  this 
great  fan^ — -sits  in  the  veranda  and  pulls  the  rope,  which  goes 
through  a  hole  in  the  wall. 

The  dining-room  is  matted  and  holds  six  chairs,  a  table,  a 
Burmese  carved  sideboard  and  another  punkah.  It  is  a  large 
and  lofty  room,  and  .sometimes  it  seems,  figuratively  speaking, 
to  yawn  for  want  of  furniture. 

But  it  is  a  housekeeping  ideal  in  India  to  possess- as  little 
furniture  as  possible.  Dust  hides  in  the  hangings,  spiders  as 
big  as  an  American  dollar  live  in  the  cornices,  the  moth  enters 
into  the  sofas,  and  the  rust  corrupts  everything  that  is  cor- 
ruptible. 

The  "  memsahib  "  (mistress)  is  a  person  from  whom  orders 


housp:keeping  in  east  india. 


169 


proceed.  Her  business  in  life  is  to  know  what  pleases  her,  to 
praise  or  to  rebuke.  She  is  not  at  all  necessary  to  the  domestic 
machine  ;  it  may  run  a  little  more  or  less  smoothly  for  her 
presence,  but  it  is  self-running. 

Her  servants  understand  their  business  much  better  than 
she  does.     She  may  dismiss,  but  she  is  not  qualified  to  interfere. 

What  could  you 
do,  pray,  with  a 
live  fowl  and  some 
tropical  vegetables 
and  a  handful  of 
charcoal  embers 
and  an  order  for 
breakfast  in  half 
an  hour,  with  the 
temperature  at  one 
hundred  and  six 
degrees  in  the  cook- 
room  ?  The  real 
government  is  the 
sahib.  The  mem- 
sahib  is  his  secretary  and  representative  ;  and  there  are  two 
departments,  each  with  its  head.  Even  domestic  affairs  in 
India  are  arranged  on  an  official  basis. 

The  department  of  the  table,  with  all  that  appertains  to  it, 
is  under  the  khansamah.  The  department  of  the  house  is 
directed  by  the  bearer. 

The  khansamah,  always  a  Mussulman,  is  official  chief  to 
the  kitmutgars,  the  mussalchi,  and  the  cook.  He  is  head 
butler ;  the  kitmutgars  are  waiters  —  one  to  each  member  of 
the  family.  His  subordinates  find  it  well  to  be  on  good  terms 
with  the  khansamah,  and  a  person  with  whom  it  is  well  to  be 
on  good  terms  soon  grows  rich  in  India. 

Besides,  he  generally  does  the  "bazaar,"  the  memsahib's 
marketing,  bringing  in  a  daily  account ;  and  the  result  of  that 
is  that  he  sometimes  invests  his  little  savings  in  house  property 
in  Calcutta,  bringing  in  four  hundred  rupees  a  month.     This 


I70 


HOUSEKEEPING    IN    EAST    INDIA. 


is  an  anomaly,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  his  own  pay  is  about 
twelve,  until  one  comes  to  India  and  studies  it  in  the  light  of 
dusturi. 

Dusturi  means  commission,  and  the  commission  you  are 
expected  to  pay  varies  with  your  income.  I  grieve  to  think 
of  the  price  extorted 
from  the  wife  of  the 
commissioner  for  a  sad- 
dle of  mutton.  The 
commissioner  is  the 
"  burra  sahib"  (chief 
sahib),  and  the  burra 
sahib  should  pay  more 
for  his  saddles  of  mut- 
ton than  anybody  else 
in  the  station,  not  be- 
cause he  gets  better 
ones,  but  because  he 
is  the  burra  sahib  and 
it  is  suitable. 

The  bearer  is  an 
influential  person  too. 
He  dusts  and  trims 
the  lamps,  and  cleans 
the  shoes,  and  is  respon- 
sible for  the  general 
well-being  of  the  house- 
hold. He  would  be 
outraged  if  you  asked 
him    to    sweep.      His 

servant,  the  mater,  does  that,  and  all  the  other  menial  work. 
The  memsahib  is  not  supposed  to  know  of  the  existence  of  the 
mater,  and  if  she  values  the  respect  of  her  establishment  she 
must  never  speak  to  him  or  take  anything  from  his  hand. 
And  strange  as  it  may  seem  to  any  one  who  does  not  know 
the  far-reaching  operation  of  caste,  we  in  India  find  it  wiser 
to  submit  to  this  custom,  as  to  many  others. 


HOUSEKEEPING   IN    EAST   INDIA. 


171 


The  bearer  calls  his  duster  a  jharrun,  and  a  large  part  of 
the  amount  every  memsahib  intends  to  save  at  the  end  of  the 
month  disappears  in  jharruns.  What  becomes  of  the  jharruns 
is  an  Aryan  problem  yet  unsolved. 

The  bearer  can  account  for  the  using  up  of  at  least  a  dozen 
a  month  without  casting  any  light  on  it.  He  says  they  all  go 
for  daily  use  and  that  he  has  given  three  to  the  groom.  The 
memsahib's  imagination  is  supposed  to  explain  the  rest ;  and 
while  it  is  at  work,  the  bearer  would  like  one  rupee  and  six 
annas  to  pay  for  some  new^  jharruns. 

When  I  have  watched  the  operation  of  the  mater's  brush, 
which  is  only  a  bunch  of  split  cane,  and  of  the  bearer's  jharrun, 
I  sometimes  feel  an  acute 
longing  for  a  stout  Ameri- 
can broom  and  a  large- 
minded  duster,  and  the 
opportunity  of  turning 
both  of  these  unoffending 
domestics  out.  For  the 
mater'sduty  is  done  when 
he  has  raised  as  much 
dust  from  under  the  mat- 
ting as  possible,  and 
picked  up  a  torn  envelope 
from  the  floor.  The 
bearer  has  accomplished 
his  when  he  has  flicked 
ever^^  article  in  the  room 
once  or  twice  with  his 
jharrun  ;  and  it  is  not  of 
particular  consequence  to 

either  of  them  which  does  his  work  first  !  But  you  know  the 
uncompromising  character  of  the  American  broom.  What  an 
awkward  piece  of  luggage  it  would  be,  and  how  unlikely  it 
would  seem  to  be  fundamentally  connected  with  one's  hap- 
piness in  Peepulpore  !  So  when  I  went  to  India  I  didn't  take 
one. 


172 


HOUSEKEEPING    IN    EAST   INDIA. 


Ver}^  seldom  does  the  memsahib  make  or  mend.     There  is 
a  useful  functionary,  called  a  durzie,  who  relieves  her  of  that. 
The  durzie  is  usually  a  lean  and  venerable  little  Moham- 
medan, wearing  a  long  white  coat,  a  small  round  white  cap, 

and  a  pair  of  spec- 
tacles. Invariably 
the  durzie  carries 
an  umbrella  —  an 
old  brown  umbrel- 
la, with  its  fullness 
tied  in  with  a  shoe- 
lace. 

I  have  never 
seen  a  durzie  with 
his  umbrella  up  in 
the  daytime  ;  but 
at  night,  especially 
on  a  bright,  fine 
moonlight  night, 
he  opens  it  to  keep 
off  fever  and  the 
dew.  A  procession  of  durzies  going  home  from  their  work  on 
such  a  night  as  this  is  one  of  the  queer  things  of  Peepulpore. 

The  durzie's  pay  is  from  three  to  four  dollars  a  month,  and 
like  all  the  other  servants,  he  feeds  himself.  His  whole 
services  are  at  your  disposal  for  this  sum ;  his  personal 
attendance  from  ten  to  five,  and  his  great  toe,  which  is  of 
no  insignificant  a.ssistance  in  long  seams.  All  he  asks  is  a 
yard  of  matting  to  sit  on  in  the  veranda,  something  to  mend 
or  something  to  copy. 

A  pair  of  trousers  for  the  sahib,  a  tennis-blouse  for  the 
memsahib,  a  night-dress  for  the  baby  —  nothing  is  beyond  his 
imitation,  provided  he  has  an  original ;  but  it  would  be  a 
daring  person  who  would  appear  in  garments  which  the  durzie 
had  been  allowed  to  evolve  out  of  his  own  imagination. 


Sara  Jeannette  Duncan. 


A   Morning   in   Benares. 

Benares,  on  the  Ganges,  India,  is  said  to  be  the  oldest 
known  habitation  of  man  in  the  world,  and  time  and  tradition 
have  sanctified  the  city  in  the  Hindoo  mind  down  even  to  its 
very  dust.  It  has  ever  been  the  headquarters  of  religion, 
even  before  the  great  reformer,  Buddha,  preached  to  the 
Hindoos,  hundreds  of  years  before  our  era. 

There  existed  at  that  time  a  form  of  worship,  combined  with 
caste, — a  monstrous  superstition  and  idolatry, — ^a  religion 
evolved  out  of  the  cries  of  early  humanity  to  something 
external  to  itself.  Buddha  broke  down  all  this.  He  destroyed 
caste,  set  aside  the  priesthood,  abolished  sacrifice  and  empty 
forms,  and,  appealing  only  to  man's  intellect  and  conscience, 
set  up  his  great  principle  of  absorption  into  the  Deity,  instead 
of  promising  a  heaven  of  conscious  souls. 

Buddhism  once  numbered  more  followers  than  any  other 
religion  in  the  world ;  but  though  Benares  was  the  cradle  into 
which  it  was  born,  and  from  which  it  spread  all  over  India, 
and  thence  eastward  even  to  Japan,  it  has  been  expelled  from 
the  land  which  gave  it  birth,  and  Brahminism,  with  all  its  dis- 
gusting practices,  has  resumed  its  ancient  place  and  authority. 

When  one  probes  beneath  the  surface  of  this  mystic  religion, 
one  finds  a  reality  rotten  to  the  core.  The  glowing  poetry 
and  sublime  imagery  of  the  Vedas,  and  the  prehistoric  sacred 
works  of  India,  should  be  sources  of  the  highest  aspirations 
and  a  deeply  religious  life.  But  of  the  millions  of  natives 
who  profess  to  follow  those  teachings,  and  of  the  millions  of 
pilgrims  who  journey  to  Benares,  hardly  one  seems  to  have  a 
true  conception  of  what  was  ideal,  spiritual,  or  religious  in 
the  ancient  belief.  lyittle  is  left  of  this  ennobling  creed  but 
the  ignoble  ruins  of  a  ceremonial,  a  superstition,  and  an 
idolatry,  confined,  rigorous,  and  hopeless  as  the  tomb. 

One  day  —  it  was  a  great  festival  —  we  went  at  sunrise  to 


174  A    MORNING    IN    BENARES. 

the  Ganges  to  see  the  pilgrims  bathe  in  its  holy  waters.  This 
surely  is  one  of  the  most  startling  and  wondrous  sights  in  the 
world  !  The  city  as  we  entered  was  illumined  with  a  soft, 
rosy  light,  the  streets  were  thronged  with  natives  streaming 
down  to  the  river  in  thousands  through  the  dust}'  streets  and 
under  dust-laden  trees.  The  dress  of  the  pilgrims  consisted 
of  the  lightest  drapery,  of  most  beautiful  colors,  loosel}-  worn. 

Many  of  the  pilgrims,  no  doubt,  came  from  homes  far  away 
in  the  remote  parts  of  India.  What  a  strength  of  faith  — 
irrational  faith  to  be  sure  —  was  there  !  How  wildl}^  their 
hearts  were  throbbing  !  for  they  had  been  waiting  and  longing 
for  this  day  for  a  long  time,  perhaps  for  all  their  lives. 

Every  day  came  the  pilgrims  in  crowds  to  this  sacred  cit}^ 
to  become  purified  by  bathing  in  the  sacred  waters  of  the 
Ganges.  Out  of  a  population  of  three  hundred  thousand,  half 
of  them  are  pilgrims,  ever  shifting. 

We  leave  our  carriage  as  we  near  the  river  and  make  our 
way  through  the  dense  crowds  of  pilgrims,  not  one  of  whom 
evinces  the  slightest  interest  in  our  presence.  Here  and  there 
some  fine-featured  girl  who  stays  our  admiration  maj-,  perhaps, 
look  a  second  time,  but  all  interest  quickly  fades  from  her 
eye. 

Reaching  the  river,  we  take  a  boat  and  are  rowed  up  the 
stream.  We  see  the  city  stretching  along  its  banks  for  miles. 
Flights  of  high  steps  line  the  river,  and  at  their  top  rise 
temples,  palaces  and  towers,  and  in  the  midst  of  them  the 
superb  mosque,  with  its  two  towering  minarets,  erected  by  the 
Emperor  Aurungzebe,  in  the  seventeenth  century. 

The  steps  are  like  a  grand  stand  on  a  race-course,  thronged 
with  natives  of  all  ages,  down  to  even  little  children,  pressing 
into  the  waters  as  far  as  they  can  get.  Rich  and  poor,  well, 
ill,  and  dying,  are  either  in  the  water  or  waiting  their  turn  to 
enter  it,  to  wash  away  their  sins,  to  pray,  and  to  throw  into  it 
innumerable  garlands  of  little  yellow  flowers.  Every  con- 
ceivable kind  of  colored  drapery  is  here,  and  in  folds  as 
beautiful  as  if  nature  had  arranged  it. 

The  morning  sun  is  now  well  up  and  brilliantly  shining 


A    MORNING    IN    BENARES. 


175 


over  the  river,  which  is  here  about  a  third  of  a  mile  across, 
and  flooding  all  the  animated  scene  in  a  rich  and  mellow 
golden  light.  Floating  down  this  great  river,  we  gaze  be- 
wildered at  these  multitudes  at  their  devotions,  washing, 
drinking,  and   throwing   in  their  flowers  as  offerings   to  the 


Pilgrims    bathing    in    the    Ganges. 


goddess  whose  water  it  is  supposed  to  be.  The  drapery  of 
the  women  is  of  beautifully  toned  colors,  dyed  in  simple  but 
lovely  hues,  and  all  different. 

All  are  bathing  and  washing.  Some  remain  in  the  water 
for  hours  together,  wrapped  in  the  deepest  thought  and 
religious  contemplation,  all  seeming  most  earnest  in  their 
devotions.  Even  the  sparkling-eyed  little  children,  like  black 
cupids,  wade  into  the  water  and  mutter  their  little  prayers 
with  all  the  solemnity  of  their  elders. 

We  float  down  almost  amongst  them.     We  might  as  well 


1^6  A    MORNING    IN    BENARES. 

be  invisible,  for  we  attract  no  notice.  Here  and  there  dotted 
about  amongst  the  crowd  on  the  steps  are  immense  umbrellas 
made  of  matting  and  nearly  flat ;  under  these  are  the  priests. 
They  look  for  all  the  world  like  fat  betting-men  under  their 
umbrellas  at  a  race-course,  and  they  must  be  gathering  in  the 
money  fast,  for  they  seem  very  busy.  When  the  bathers  have 
finished  their  devotions  in  the  river,  they  go  to  these  priests 
to  have  painted  on  their  foreheads  a  small  spot  of  a  sticky- 
looking  substance,  for  which  the  priests  exact  a  high  price. 

The  British  Government  has  put  a  stop  to  practices  which 
used  formerly  to  be  common  here,  practices  which  were  not 
discouraged  by  the  priests,  and  which  were  done  in  the  name 
of  religion.  From  all  parts  of  India  pilgrims  would  come  here 
to  drown  themselves  in  the  river.  They  would  be  tied  between 
two  large  earthenware  pots,  and  would  then  wade  out  into 
deep  water,  being  kept  afloat  by  the  empty  jars.  These  they 
gradually  filled  with  water,  till  they  sank  with  them  from  the 
gaze  of  the  approving  multitude  on  the  banks. 

Other  practices,  which  have  been  also  stopped,  were  the 
burying  alive  of  lepers,  and  the  burning  of  widows  with  their 
dead  husbands,  unless  they  preferred  to  be  buried  alive. 

Cases  occasionally  occur  even  now  of  fanatics  burying 
themselves  alive. 

In  Benares  there  are  said  to  be  five  thousand  temples,  and 
in  all  of  them  are  repulsive-looking  idols  covered  with  rice 
and  flowers,  and  dripping  with  the  sacred  w^ater  thrown  upon 
them  by  persons  coming  from  the  river. 

The  temples  are  crowded  with  worshippers,  and  the  floors 
are  covered,  considerably  over  the  soles  of  one's  boots,  with 
slush  of  water,  rice,  and  trampled  flowers,  the  heat  and  smell 
being  nearly  overpowering.  Little  niches  in  the  walls  of  the 
streets  have  each  their  hideous  idols,  and  they  too  are  deluged 
with  water,  rice  and  flowers. 

Everything  in  Benares  is  worshipped,  even  pebbles  from 
the  river  and  dust  from  the  streets.  One  temple  we  visited  is 
sacred  to  the  Brahmin  bulls.  There  were  many  bulls  there  of 
huge  size,  fat,  content,  and  garlanded  with  flowers. 


A    MORNING    IN    BENARES. 


177 


There  are  also  many  wells,  all  most  sacred.  One  to  which 
we  went,  the  well  of  knowledge,  the  water  of  which  the 
pilgrims  drink,  is  nearly  filled  up  with  the  flowers  which  the 
worshippers  have  thrown  in  as  offerings.  The  smell  from 
these  wells  is  absolutely  choking  in  its  offensiveness,  and  the 
slush  about  them  nearly  ankle-deep. 

All  we  saw,  excepting  from  a  picturesque  point  of  view, 
was  painful  in  the  extreme.  It  must  be  almost  impossible  to 
eradicate  superstitions  so  inrooted  as  are  those  of  the  Brahmins. 
True  religion,  science  and  education  alone  can  reach  and 
cleanse  these  morall}'  pestilent  spots. 

Hugh  Wilkinson. 


An    Indian    Juggler. 


The    Fire  -Worshippers. 

Many  persons  are  familiar  with  the  fervid  lines  of  Moore's 
splendid  poem  called  the  "  Fire- Worshippers."  The  farewell 
scene  between  Hafed  and  Hinda  is  one  of  the  most  affecting 
passages  in  the  early  poetry  of  this  century.  It  has  been  so 
widely  read  and  has  produced  so  deep  an  impression  that  there 
are  many  whose  only  idea  of  the  prevalent  religion  of  Persia 
is  derived  from  a  perusal  of  that  poem  ;  and  often  has  the 
question  been  asked  me  whether  there  is  any  other  religion 
practised  in  that  country  beside  that  of  the  worship  of  fire. 

The  facts  are  that  out  of  a  population  of  nine  millions,  that 
empire  now  numbers  only  a  few  thousand  genuine  worshippers 
of  fire.  With  the  exception  of  about  eighty-six  thousand 
Armenians,  Jews,  and  Nestorians,  the  remainder  of  the  Persian 
people  are  Mohammedans. 

It  was  soon  after  the  rise  of  Mohammed  that  his  fanatical 
hosts  assailed  the  frontiers  of  Persia.  Yezdejird  III.,  who 
proved  to  be  the  last  of  his  line,  was  at  that  time  sovereign 
of  Iran.  His  army  was  defeated  in  the  decisive  battle  of 
Kadisiya,  he  himself  was  slain  two  years  later,  and  the  Persians 
were  forced  to  accept  Mohammedanism  or  the  sword. 

Those  who  refused  to  abandon  the  old  faith  of  Zoroaster 
for  that  of  Mohammed  were  persecuted,  and  mostly  slain  or 
driven  from  the  country.  Those  who  fled  from  Persia  sought 
refuge  in  India,  where  they  form,  in  our  time,  an  intelligent 
and  flourishing  community,  known  by  the  name  of  Parsees, 
or  Persians.  It  is  amid  these  struggles  of  an  ancient  race 
against  the  domination  of  a  new  religion  and  dynasty  that 
Moore  has  laid  the  scene  of  his  "  Fire- Worshippers." 

Notwithstanding  these  long  persecutions,  which  have  con- 
tinued over  one  thousand  years,  and  only  now  are  beginning 
to  relax,  and  permit  the  Fire- Worshippers  of  Persia  to  live 
there    unmolested,    yet    a  small,  steadfast   band   has   always 


THE    FIRE-WORSHIPPERS.  179 

remained  in  that  land,  presendng  the  faith  of  their  fathers 
and  their  rites  and  ceremonials  unchanged.  In  Persia  they 
are  called  Guebres.  This  is  simply  a  corruption  of  the  Arabic 
term  Kafir,  which  means  a  heretic,  an  unbeliever.  In  time  it 
has  become  a  word  of  contumely  and  scorn. 

Although  so  few  in  numbers,  yet  the  Guebres  are  a  most 
interesting  community,  for  in  them  we  see  the  old  Persian 
stock  of  the  days  of  Cyrus  and  Xerxes  unmixed  with  any 
other  race  ;  while  the  religion  they  practise  is  that  which  was 
introduced  into  Persia  or  perfected  by  the  famous  Zoroaster, 
or  Zerdusiht,  who  lived  at  least  twenty-five  centuries  ago. 

Zoroaster  was  born  in  the  northern  province  called  both 
then  and  now  Adarbaijan  ;  this  name  means  the  region  of  fire, 
and  it  may  have  been  so  called  because  the  religion  whose 
distinctive  doctrine  is  supposed  to  be  the  worship  of  fire  had 
its  origin  there.  It  is  only  just  to  state  that  intelligent  Guebres 
repudiate  this  doctrine.  They  assert  that  it  is  a  mistake  to 
call  them  Fire- Worshippers.  They  say  that  fire  is  to  them 
not  an  object  of  worship,  but  only  a  symbol  of  the  beneficent 
Ormuzd,  or  good  God,  who  is  clear  and  radiant  and  pure,  like 
the  glow  of  the  rising  sun  or  the  flames  of  fire,  and  that  it  is 
through  the  symbol  that  they  adore  the  good  Spirit. 

This  may  be  true  of  the  more  intelligent  followers  of  the 
doctrines  of  Zoroaster,  but  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  ignorant 
classes  believe  that  light  and  fire  are  real  emanations  of  God, 
and  worship  them  as  such.  Fire  is  by  them  held  so  sacred 
that  they  never  smoke  tobacco,  and  for  that  reason  it  is  not 
by  them  considered  courteous  to  use  the  weed  in  the  presence 
of  a  host  or  guest  who  is  a  Guebre. 

In  every  household  of  the  Guebres  fire  kindled  from  the 
sacred  flame  at  the  new  year  is  kept  burning  the  entire  year. 
That  is  the  purpose  the}^  follow,  but  whether  they  alwaj^s 
succeed  in  preventing  the  fire  from  being  extinguished  is 
doubtful . 

The  Guebres  have  many  peculiar  doctrines  and  customs. 
One  of  these  is  the  use  of  yellow  in  their  garb ;  another 
concerns  the  theory  of  immortality.     They  maintain  that  there 


i8o 


THE    FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 


are  two  principles,  the  good  and  the  evil,  which  they  call 
Ormuszdao  and  Ahrimasdao.  The  ancient  Greeks  corrupted 
these  names  to  Ormusd  and  Ahriman.     These  two  principles, 


or  influences,  fight  for  the 
mastery  through  the  ages, 
seeking  to  win  possession  of 
the  soul  of  man. 

When  a  Guebre  dies  at 
Teheran,  his  corpse  is  taken 
to  the  lonely  cemetery  five 
miles  south  of  the  city,  sit- 
uated on  a  lone  rocky  eminence 

that  overlooks  the  vast  plains  quivering  with  mirage.  It 
resembles  a  white  watch-tower,  being  built  in  the  shape  of  a 
round  hill-fort.  It  is  white,  and  has  no  apparent  way  of 
entrance. 

The  walls  are  built  of  cargel,  or  mud  smeared  with  plaster 


THE    FIRE-WORSHIPPERS.  l8l 

that  presences  it  from  the  weather.  Winding  slowly  over  the 
plain  and  up  the  barren  height,  the  procession  of  mourners, 
outcasts  in  a  land  they  once  ruled,  bear  the  dead  to  his  last 
resting-place.  A  hole  is  made  in  the  wall  of  the  cemetery, 
through  which  the  corpse  is  taken  to  its  grave. 

Strange  to  say,  the  grave  is  not  dug  in  the  earth.  The 
surface  of  the  ground  within  this  unroofed  enclosure  is  divided 
by  raised  lines  of  brick  into  numerous  oblong  cells  of  uniform 
size,  much  like  the  parterres  of  a  garden.  The  corpse  is  laid 
in  one  of  these,  dressed,  and  left  there  exposed  to  the  elements. 
Vultures  and  buzzards  hover  over  the  cemetery  in  flocks; 
they  know  full  well  what  is  taking  place  in  the  desolate  spot. 
Then  the  mourners  retire  to  a  little  distance  up  the  hillside, 
to  watch  the  birds  of  prey  swoop  down  to  devour  the  dead. 

They  have  a  reason  for  thus  keenly  observing,  for  they 
believe  that  the  destiny  of  the  departed  soul  is  revealed  by 
the  acts  of  the  birds.  If  they  devour  the  right  eye  first,  the 
soul  is  in  heaven  ;  but  if  the  left  eye  is  first  attacked,  then  the 
mourners  go  away  sorrowful,  for  sad  is  the  doom  of  their 
departed  friends. 

But  the  Guebres  have  other  and  more  cheerful  customs 
than  this.  Their  new  year  is  called  the  No  Rooz,  or  New 
Day.  It  comes  at  the  time  when  the  sun  crosses  the  line  in 
March.  Their  traditions  state  that  this  festival  was  ordained 
by  their  great  legendary  king.  Shah  Jemschid.  Although 
most  of  the  Persians  are  now  Mohammedans,  j-et  they  all 
accept  the  period  for  the  commencement  of  the  new  year 
established  in  their  country  long  ages  before  the  camel-driver 
of  the  desert  sent  his  armies  to  force  them  to  his  creed  ;  and 
thus,  at  the  No  Rooz,  Guebres  and  Mussulmans  alike  rejoice. 
The  latter  pretend  that  they  celebrate  the  occasion  because 
it  is  the  birth  anniversary  of  their  Prophet,  but  this  is  a  mere 
flimsy  excuse,  concocted  in  order  to  show  their  disdain  for 
the  Guebres.  But  in  a  hundred  ways  the  Persians  show  that 
in  their  celebration  of  this  annual  festival  they  are  following 
the  traditions  of  their  fire-worshipping  ancestors. 

Nowhere  is  the  new  year  celebrated  with  more  mysticism 


l82  THE    FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 

and  pomp  and  universal  rejoicing  than  in  Persia.  For 
weeks  before  it  arrives  the  people  begin  their  preparations  for 
the  occasion.  Every  one  seeks  to  raise  money  to  purchase 
the  new  suit  of  clothes  he  is  expected  to  wear  at  the  time, 
and  the  confectionery  and  provisions  for  the  ten  days  of 
feasting,  as,  during  that  period,  the  shops  are  mostly  closed. 
So  important  is  it  to  be  properly  prepared  for  the  No  Rooz, 
that  articles  of  price  that  are  family  heirlooms  are  often 
sacrificed  in  order  to  provide  the  needed  money. 

When  the  new  moon  of  that  month  appears,  devout  Persians 
look  to  the  east,  then  covering  the  face  with  their  hands, 
they  are  slowly  turned  until,  on  withdrawing  the  hands,  the 
gleaming  sickle  of  the  new  moon  is  seen  directly  in  front. 
Perhaps  our  superstition  about  discovering  the  new  moon  over 
the  right  shoulder  is  suggested  by  this  Persian  custom. 

The  eve  before  No  Rooz  is  also  the  occasion  for  a  curious 
ceremony,  evidently  suggested  by  the  mystical  meaning  the 
Guebres  attach  to  fire  and  light.  The  common  people  leap 
over  heaps  of  burning  brushwood  laid  in  rows.  It  is  possible 
the  heathenish  custom  alluded  to  in  Scripture  of  ' '  passing 
children  through  the  fire  "  may  be  a  form  of  this  ceremony. 

As  the  hour  approaches  for  the  sun  to  cross  the  line,  the 
Shah  assembles  in  the  great  audience-chamber  of  the  palace, 
with  the  high  spiritual  and  temporal  dignitaries  of  the  king- 
dom. Money  is  distributed  to  all  for  good  luck  on  the 
commencement  of  the  New  Year.  At  the  moment  the 
astrologers  announce  the  No  Rooz,  the  Shah  gravely  exclaims, 
"  Mambarek  bashed!"  (May  it  be  propitious  to  you.)  A 
sacred  song  of  rejoicing  is  then  sung  by  a  mollah,  or  priest ; 
after  this  each  courtier,  according  to  his  rank,  offers  his 
obeisance  to  the  Shah,  and  receives  from  the  royal  hand  a 
present. 

S.  G.  W.  Benjamin. 


Some    Little    Egyptians. 

When  I  sailed  up  the  Nile  from  Cairo  to  the  First  Cataract, 
I  saw  little  Egyptians  of  many  different  types  among  the 
youngsters  who  crowded  about  the  boat  at  a  landing-place, 
or  ran  after  one's  donke^^      Some  had    skins  hardly  darker 


than  an  Italian's,  and  straight  noses  ;  others  beautiful  bronze- 
colored  skins,  and  softly-outlined,  handsome  features  ;  others 
again  were  black  as  a  coal,  with  funny  flat  noses,  thick  lips, 
and  dazzling  white  teeth. 

The  donkey-boys  were  my  especial  favorites.  Everybody 
rides  on  donkeys  in  Egypt,  and  every  donkey  has  a  donkey- 
bo}^  to  run  after  him  and  poke  him  with  a  stick,  and  shout, 
' '  Ha-a-a-a  !  Ha-a-a-a  !  ' '  The}'  are  the  jolliest,  most  impudent 
set  of  little  rascals  I  ever  saw,  quick  at  learning  English,  and 
ready  at  all  sorts  of  pranks. 

They  can  run  for  miles  behind  their  galloping  donkeys 
carrying  the  wraps,  sketch-books,  or  camera  of  the  rider, 
never  getting  out  of  breath,  giving  a  bright  smile  every  time 
one  looks  at  them,  and  keeping  up  a  continual  chatter,  trying 


SOME    LITTLE    EGYPTIANS. 


185 


to  learn  new  English  sentences  and  teaching  Arabic  ones  in 
exchange.  The  donkeys  are  clipped  in  fancy  patterns  about 
the  legs  and  neck,  and  have  bright  red  saddle-cloths,  and 
beautiful  bead  necklaces  ornamented  with  little  gilt  coins 
which  jingle  merrily  as  they  go.  The  donkey-boys  generallj^ 
wear  blue  gowns,  and  have  bright-colored  handkerchiefs 
wound  round  their  heads  by  way  of  turbans,  but  sometimes 
they  are  all  in  white,  which  is  very  becoming  to  their  dark  skins. 

They  name  their  donkeys  to  suit  the  occasion.  If  they 
suppose  you  an  American  they  will  tell  you,  "  Donkey  name, 
Yankee  Doodle  —  very  good  donkey;"  or,  "  Dis  donkey 
California  Jack;  gallop  all  time."  But  if  they  think  you 
English,  the  same  donkey  is  "John  Bull,"  or  the  "  Prince  of 
Wales,"  and  so  on  through  all  the  nations. 

Several  times  my  donkey-boy  asked  me, 
after  I  had  been  riding  awhile,  "  Very  good 
donkey  ?  "  If  I  answered  ' '  Yes, ' '  he  would 
go  on  : 

' '  Very  good  donkey-boy  ?  ' ' 

"Yes." 

' '  Very  good  saddle  ?  ' ' 

"Yes." 

"  Then  very  good  'bakshish  !'  "  which 
meant  that  I  should  pay  him  handsomely 
at  the  end  of  the  ride. 

Up  at  the  Tombs  of  the  Kings,  among 
the  great  Sand  Mountains  and  dark  caves 
where  the  royal  mummies  had  been  buried, 
I  made  a  great  friend  of  a  little  water- 
carrier,  ten  or  eleven  years  old.  She  wore 
a  long  blue  cotton  gown,  open  at  the  throat  and  hanging  down 
loose  to  her  brown  ankles.  Over  her  head  hung  a  soft, 
clinging  black  veil. 

Around  her  neck  were  two  necklaces  of  shells  and  beads, 
yellow  and  red  and  green.  In  one  ear  was  a  large  gold  hoop. 
Silver  bangles  jingled  on  her  arms  and  legs.  She  carried  her 
water  jug,  or  "  goolah,"  poised  gracefully  on  her  small  head. 


SOME    LITTLE    EGYPTIANS. 


without  the  help  of  her  hands,  and  ran  alongside  of  my  donkey 
for  miles,  ready  to  offer  me  a  drink  whenever  the  hot  sun  and 
the  dusty  ride  made  me  thirsty. 

As  she  trotted  along  she  kept  up  chattering  in  her  bird-like 
voice,  her  face  lit  up  with  the  most  bewitching  smiles. 

Instead  of  holding  babies  in  their  arms,  as  American  babies 
are  carried,  Egyptian  women  set  them  up  astride  one  shoulder, 
even  when  they  are  only  a  month  or  two 
old.  The  tiny  things  soon  learn  to  hang 
on  by  clutching  their  mothers'  necks, 
or  the  tops  of  their  head-dresses.  Thus 
the  women  can  carry  bundles  in  their 
hands  or  busy  themselves  about  domestic 
affairs,  while  the  babies  "  sit  up  aloft," 
looking  on  gravely,  and  rarely  crying. 
One  never  goes  out  to  walk  in  Egypt 
without  meeting  a  number  of  babies 
riding  on  their  mothers'  shoulders  in 
this  way. 

Whenever  we  anchored  for  the  night 
along  the  Nile,  all  the  children  of  the 
neighborhood  would  crowd  around  the 
boat,  in  their  blue  or  white  gowns  and 
shirts,  crying  to  us  for  "bakshish," 
which  they  had  done  nothing  to  earn.  Dozens  of  half-naked 
boys  would  plunge  into  the  river  for  the  oranges  and  copper 
coins  flung  in  to  induce  them  to  dive.  Such  crowding, 
pushing,  dancing,  singing,  yelling,  laughing,  rolling  down 
embankments  and  climbing  up  again,  we  never  had  seen  before. 
When  we  rode  out  to  see  ruins  a  swarm  of  children 
surrounded  us,  and  they  usually  seemed  happy,  although 
sometimes  they  would  hop  along  on  one  foot,  as  if  lame,  or 
twist  their  perfectly  well-formed  little  fingers  over  on  the  backs 
of  their  hands,  and  hold  up  these  imitation  deformities,  as 
they  cried  out  piteously  : 

"  Mesquine  !   Mesquine  !  "      (Miserable.) 

But  if  I  laughed  at  their  pretence  they  joined  in  heartily. 


SOME    LITTLE    EGYPTIANS.  1 87 

Once  a  large  number  of  boys  and  girls  came  toward  us, 
leaping  and  dancing,  and  playing  on  rude  musical  instruments 
of  reeds  bound  together,  with  strings  drawn  across  them, 
over  which  they  scraped  a  bow  or  stick.  The  music  was 
wild,  queer  and  pretty.  But  the  song  was  the  everlasting 
"  bakshish." 

Few  go  to  school,  except  in  Cairo  and  Alexandria,  and  in 
some  of  the  American  mission  schools  up  the  Nile.  As  I  was 
riding  through  the  palm-shaded  streets  of  Edfou  a  big  fellow 
of  eighteen  or  twenty  came  out  of  the  dark  doorwaj-  of  a 
whitewashed  house  with  a  copybook  in  his  hand,  and  said, 
proudly  and  distinctly  : 

"  I  am  a  scholar  of  the  American  Mission." 

Then  he  thrust  his  copybook  between  my  donkey's  ears 
and  my  nose,  and  I  read  : 

Twinkle,  twinkle,  little  star, 
How  I  wonder  what  you  are  ! 

In  the  few  native  schools  the  children  are  taught  little  but 
verses  from  the  Koran,  their  sacred  book.  They  sit  in  circles 
on  the  stone  or  marble  floor  of  some  mosque,  with  the  teacher 
in  the  centre,  all  rocking  backward  and  forward  like  so  many 
pendulums,  and  buzzing  away  in  a  monotonous  low  singsong. 

But  I  think  my  dear  little  Egyptians  learn  more  by  driving 
donkeys,  talking  to  travellers,  picking  up  crumbs  of  wisdom 
from  everything  and  everybody,  and  stocking  their  quick 
brains  with  lessons  of  common  sense  and  experience,  than 
they  ever  learn  in  the  mosques. 

There  was  a  funny  little  boy  who  followed  me  about  at 
Philse,  waving  a  palm-leaf  switch  and  repeating,  "  I  you  boy. 
I  boy  for  you.     Keep  flies  off  you." 

Edith  R.  Crosby. 


%/f 


[1W 


m-^ 


Makers    and    Sellers    of    Sweetmeats. 


Oriental    Sweetmeats, 


The  food  of  the  people  is  always  an  interesting  study  in 
foreign  lands,  especially  in  the  cities  of  the  far  East,  where 
every  teeming,  narrow  street  displays  the  queer  things  that 
are  eaten  by  the  dark-skinned  people  who  live  behind  its 
windowless  walls  and  mysterious  courts. 

There  is  evidence  everywhere  that  in  Oriental  mouths  the 
"sweet  tooth"  is  highly  developed,  for  of  the  heaps  of 
eatables  piled  in  open  booths,  in  street  stalls,  in  bazaars,  and 
wheeled  on  salvers  through  the  streets,  nine-tenths  are,  to  our 
palates,  sickeningly  sweet. 

Curious  the}^  are,  and  usually  quite  different  from  our 
sweets.  To  inspect,  buy  and  taste  these  strange  concoctions 
was  one  of  my  amusements.  The  result  in  many  cases  was 
agreeable,  but  upon  the  whole  the  bonbons  of  France  and  the 
' '  candies ' '  of  America  are  far  superior  to  the  sugared 
mixtures  of  the  Orient. 

Sweetened  arrowroot,  pistachio-nut  and  the  paste  known 
as  "Turkish  delight,"  with  quarts  of  rose-water  flavor,  are 
the  elements  of  hundreds  of  other  sweetmeats,  the  foundation 
from  which  nearly  all  are  made. 

' '  Turkish  delight ' '  should  come  first  in  a  description  of 
Eastern  dainties,  for  it  is  everywhere  in  the  Orient  the  most 
frequently  seen  and  largely  consumed.  When  fresh  and  well 
made  it  is  the  most  palatable  of  Eastern  sweetmeats. 
"  Rakat-Sakoume  "  it  is  called  by  the  Turks  and  Arabs. 

It  is  made  of  arrowroot  flour,  boiled  with  sugar  and  water 
into  a  thick  but  flexible  paste,  and  highly  flavored  with 
rose-water.  It  is  then  turned  into  buttered  dishes  to  cool, 
dusted  with  finely  powdered  sugar,  and  cut  into  long  strips. 
Chopped  nuts  of  almond  or  pistachio  are  often  added,  and  it  is 
variously  colored,  red,  white  and  j^ellow. 

The  making  of  Oriental  sweetmeats  is  not  a  secret.     Much 


igo  ORIENTAI.   SWEETMEATS. 

of  it  is  done  in  the  public  streets  for  all  to  see.  In  cities  like 
Damascus  one  fairly  stumbles  over  great  bowls  of  sugar, 
beaten  eggs,  cooling  arrowroot  and  the  chopped  nuts  and 
seeds  used  in  their  construction. 

On  every  side  one  is  greeted  by  the  odor  of  boiling  honey 
and  sugar,  and  by  the  sound  of  the  sizzling  fat,  into  which  are 
dropped  the  sweet  fritters  so  commonly  eaten. 

These  fritters  of  puff  paste,  usually  very  greasy,  are  in 
every  Oriental  sweetmeat  bazaar.  They  are  made  in  small 
shapes  with  sweet  pastes  of  different  colors  and  kinds 
sandwiched  between  them.  Most  often  the  sandwiched  stuff 
consists  of  pounded  pistachio-nuts  made  very  sweet.  Over 
the  top  are  strewn  layers  of  mashed  pomegranate  seeds  and 
sugar. 

No  more  brilliant  pictures  can  be  seen  than  in  the  lanes 
where  these  comfits  are  made.  Swarthy  men  and  boys,  clad 
in  flowing  robes,  with  gay  sashes  and  turbans,  are  framed  in 
the  open  booths,  their  brown  arms  deeply  buried  in  great 
bowls  of  the  whites  of  eggs  which  they  churn  to  foaming 
masses  with  their  hands.  Dishes  of  semi-liquid  sugar  stand 
near,  and  beside  them  various  receptacles  containing  the 
arrowroot,  pastes,  honey,  fruits  and  colors  ready  to  be  mixed 
for  use. 

Charcoal  fires,  over  which  the  sweets  are  boiling  and 
bubbling,  light  up  the  interior  ;  and  on  tables  in  front  are 
trays,  bowls,  slabs  and  jars  filled  with  the  countless  jumbles 
of  brilliantly  colored  goodies. 

There  are  lumps  formed  of  cocoanut  and  honey  ;  sugared 
peas,  balls  of  pink  sugar  on  sticks,  or  festooned  on  strings  ; 
flat  red  wheels  with  nuts  ;  triangles  of  white  semi-transparent 
paste  with  layers  of  pistachio  between  ;  balls  of  dark  fruit 
paste  stuck  full  of  blanched  nuts  ;  sections  of  melon  or  citron 
boiled  in  sugar  and  dried.  This  last  is  one  of  the  best  of 
the  Oriental  sweets. 

There  are  great  lumps  looking  like  broken  greenish 
sandstone,  which  prove  to  be  made  of  the  ever  present 
sweetened  pistachio  pounded  into  a  compact  mass  and  allowed 


ORIENTAL    SWEETMEATS. 


191 


to  harden.  There  are  candied  apricots,  dates  and  figs  into 
which  hazelnuts  and  ahiionds  have  been  thrust.  There  are 
round  pieces  of  sweet  gum,  of  rose  and  yellow,  as  long  as 
one's  arm  and  nearly  as  thick,  in  the  centre  of  which  is  a  pith 
of  blanched  nuts.  This  is  cut  into  slices,  and  forms  pretty 
rings. 

There  are  rows  of  small  white  bowls  set  along  the  stalls  to 
cool,  containing  what  looks  like  our  blanc-mange.  It  is  made 
of  sweetened  rice  flour,  or  arrowroot,  scented  with  rose-water, 
sprinkled  over  the  top  with  chopped  pistachio-nuts.  Over  this 
is  poured  cream  of  goat's  or  ewe's  milk. 

This  dish  is  often  iced  or  cooled  with  snow,  and  is  very 
popular,  the  little  bowls  being  quickly  emptied  by  the 
passers-by.  For  a  few  piastres  you  can  have  one  of  the  bowls 
placed  before  you  ;  but  though  the  dish  looked  inviting  on 
those  hot  Syrian  days,  suggesting  our  ice-cream,  I  was  unable 
to  eat  mine,  owing  to  the  intense  cloying  sweetness  and  strong 
flavor  of  rose. 

This  scent,  so  much  liked  in  the  East,  pervades  everything. 
Even  the  hotels  for  strangers  use  it  for  cakes  and  puddings. 
In  Jerusalem  we  ate  quince  jelly  flavored  with  it,  and  found  it 
rather  a  pleasing  admixture. 

Swinging  above  every  stall  and  bazaar  of  eatables  are 
long,  brown,  glossy  ribbons,  or  bands,  which  puzzled  us  not  a 
little.  The  frequency  of  these  in  every  Oriental  city  led  me  to 
test  this  dainty,  which  seemed  of  such  importance.  It  is 
composed  of  ripe  apricots  mashed  and  rolled  into  thin  sheets. 
Dried  in  long  bands  it  keeps  a  long  time,  and  is  one  of  the 
staple  commodities  of  Eastern  shops.  The  natives  eat  it  after 
moistening  it,  or  they  boil  it  with  water  and  dip  their  bread 
into  it. 

Amid  the  confusion  of  unknown  goodies  heaped  every- 
where, there  are  two  articles  which  seem  familiar.  One  is  our 
"  rock  candy  "  dangling  upon  long  strings  before  the  bazaars. 
Another  is  the  "  sugar-plum  "  of  our  childhood  ;  but  when  we 
bite  into  it  we  find  it  more  often  made  of  the  pistachio-nut 
than  of  the  familiar  old  almond.     On  the  same  counters  with 


192  ORIENTAL   SWEETMEATS. 

the  sweetmeats  are  always  dishes  filled  with  dried  pumpkin 
seeds,  salted  nuts,  and  bowls  full  of  round  seeds  resembling 
our  dried  peas,  all  of  which  are  eaten  in  large  quantities. 

In  the  spring  and  early  summer  dishes  of  green  almonds 
are  also  displayed  on  the  stalls,  appearing  to  our  eyes  like 
huge  platters  of  green  peaches  and  resembling  them  in  taste. 

The  Arabs  consider  them  a  great  dainty,  eaten  with  salt. 
My  inability  to  eat  the  double  handful  which  my  Arab  groom, 
thinking  to  please  and  surprise  me,  had  stolen  from  an  almond 
orchard  through  which  we  passed,  almost  gained  me  his 
permanent  ill  will. 

Important  articles  are  the  fiat  cakes  of  various  kinds. 
Piles  of  them  lie  like  great  white  wheels,  made  into  thin,  flat 
sheets,  and  smeared  with  funny  little  tracks  of  boiled  honey 
or  fruit  syrup. 

Often  they  are  round  cakes  slightly  sweetened  with  honey, 
and  plentifully  strewn  with  sesame  seeds,  resembling  our 
canary  seeds.  This  is  the  sesame  and  honej^  cake  of  the 
Arabian  Nights'  tales. 

There  are  huge  piles  of  large,  crisp  hoops  of  unsweetened 
dough,  baked  very  brown  and  sprinkled  with  these  same 
seeds.  They  somewhat  resemble  German  pretzels,  and  are 
called  "simites."  In  Constantinople  there  are  stalls  devoted 
entirely  to  the  sale  of  them.  The  piles  of  crisp,  round  rings, 
with  the  picturesque  simite  merchants  behind  them,  form  one 
of  the  most  curious  and  frequent  sights  of  that  city. 

During  the  Fast  of  Ramadan,  corresponding  somewhat  to 
our  Christian  Lent,  the  Moslems  fast  from  sunrise  to  sunset, 
after  which  they  spend  the  night  in  eating.  It  is  at  this 
season  that  the  sweetmeats  are  devoured  in  largest  quantities. 

Eleanor  Hodgens. 


OLD    OCEAN. 


Under    the    Shadow    ot    the    Berg. 


About    Icebergs. 


The  birthplace  of  icebergs  is  on  the  coasts  of  Greenland. 
This  great  land-mass  stretches  away  twelve  hundred  miles 
toward  the  Pole.  It  might  be  named  a  continent,  since  it  has 
an  estimated  area  of  five  hundred  and  twelve  thousand  square 
miles,  and  thirty-four  hundred  miles  of  coast  line. 

The  whole  interior  of  Greenland  is  covered  by  an  immense 
ice-cap,  many  hundred  feet  in  thickness.  The  sun's  rays, 
falling  on  the  snow  at  the  summits  of  the  mountains,  partially 
melt  it  into  a  granular  mass.  The  valleys  receive  the  drainage 
from  these  granular  snow-fields,  and  the  cold  converts  it  into 
a  solid  mass  of  ice  — a  glacier. 

The  great  weight  of  snow  acts  as  a  propelling  power  from 
behind,  and  forces  the  icy  stream  constantly  onward  toward 
the  coast,  which  it  lines  wnth  an  enormous  crystal  precipice. 

At  last  the  front  of  the  glacier  is  forced  by  the  propelling 
power  behind  it  into  the  sea,  and  into  deeper  and  still  deeper 
water.  It  begins  to  feel  the  action-  of  the  waves  and  tides 
which  wear  away  its  base  ;  and  great  cliffs  of  ice  overhang 
the  ocean. 

Now  let  us  witness  the  birth  of  an  iceberg.  A  lofty  cliff 
of  ice,  thus  overhanging  the  water,  has  been  for  some  time 
showing  signs  of  insecurity.  Great  caverns  have  been  ex- 
cavated in  its  base  ;  deep  fissures  are  discernible  in  its  face. 
Suddenly,  with  a  roar  far  louder  than  thunder,  the  ice-mountain 
snaps  asunder,  and  the  detached  mass  comes  grinding,  crashing 
down. 

A  cloud  of  spray  dashes  high  into  the  air,  and  the  young 
iceberg  is  born. 

It  dives  as  it  touches  the  waves,  rises  slowly,  sways  and 
tumbles  to  and  fro,  but  at  last  secures  its  balance.  Its  front 
is  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  above  the  waves,  but  there  is 
eight  times  as  much  bulk  beneath  as  above  the  surface  ;  so 


The    Birth    of    an    Iceberg. 


ABOUT    ICEBERGS.  1 97 

that  its  weight  may  be  millions  of  tons.  The  berg  is  scarcely 
launched  into  life  before  it  begins  to  feel  the  influence  of  the 
great  Arctic  current  that  is  rushing  southward  through  Baffin's 
Bay  and  Davis  Strait.  Borne  on  the  bo.som  of  this  stream,  it 
starts  on  its  long  voyage  of  six  or  possibly  twelve  months. 

At  last  our  berg  reaches  southern  latitudes  and  a  warmer 
clime.  What  the  fury  of  tempests  and  the  blows  of  the  billows 
could  not  accomplish,  the  silent  rays  of  the  sun  and  the  action 
of  the  warmer  air  begin  slowly  to  effect. 

The  iceberg  becomes  relaxed  in  the  joints.  Streamlets  are 
trickling  down  its  sides.  Its  constitution  is  shaken.  Great 
crags  ever  and  anon  fall  from  it,  with  a  sullen  plunge  into  the 
ocean. 

Now  it  becomes  top-heavy,  reels  and  turns  over.  Woe  to 
the  vessel  that  is  near  when  this  takes  place  !  Rocky  fragments 
embedded  in  its  now  upturned  base  are  exposed  to  the  light. 
The  berg  presents  a  completely  new  front  and  summit,  which 
have  been  sculptured  by  the  waves,  and  is  no  longer  recog- 
nizable as  the  same  towering  monster  that  left  the  portals  of 
the  north  months  before. 

It  is  now  in  a  state  of  unstable  equilibrium,  and  frequently 
turns  over  with  a  hoarse  roar.  All  sailors  know  the  dangers 
of  icebergs  in  this  condition.  They  call  them  "growlers," 
and  give  them  a  wide  berth. 

Shorn  of  its  glories,  and  greatly  reduced  in  size,  the  berg 
still  holds  on  its  course  and  approaches  the  Banks  of  New- 
foundland. Now  it  enters  the  warm  water  of  the  Gulf  Stream, 
and  its  dissolution  is  at  hand.  Cascades  are  streaming  down 
its  sides.  Caverns  are  worn  right  through  its  centre.  Small 
lakes  are  formed  on  its  summit.  Rents  and  fissures  are 
constantly  widening. 

Finally  it  bursts,  with  an  explosion  like  thunder.  Its 
shattered  remains  are  scattered  far  and  wide,  and  speedily 
melt  in  the  warm  waters.     The  berg  is  no  more. 

Such  is  the  life-history  of  an  iceberg.  When  it  reaches  a 
certain  stage,  and  its  cohesive  powers  are  relaxed, — when 
it  becomes    "rotten,"    as   the   sailors   say, —  it   is   especially 


198 


ABOUT    ICEBERGS. 


dangerous.  Then  a  slight  cause  will  make  it  explode,  and  it 
bursts  into  ten  thousand  fragments,  raising  huge  billows 
which  might  swamp  a  vessel. 

The  concussion  of  the  air  from  the  firing  of  a  gun,  or  even 
the  noise  made  by  a  steamer,  has  been  known  to  cause  such 
an  explosion. 

Sometimes  a  berg  has  projections,  or  spurs,  underneath  the 
water,  stretching  far  out  from  its  base.  A  vessel  that  ventures 
too  near  may  strike  on  one  of  these  unseen  ice-reefs. 

Such  an  event  happened  in  July,  1890.  A  steamer  with 
tourists  on  board,  who  were  anxious  to  have  a  near  view  of  a 
large  berg,  approached  so  close  that  she  struck  on  one  of  its 


V 


An    Iceberg    at    Sea. 


jutting  spurs.  The  shock  and  the  weight  of  the  heavily-laden 
vessel  broke  off  the  spur,  and  at  the  same  time  a  huge  cliff  of 
the  berg,  many  hundreds  of  tons  in  weight,  fell  into  the  water 
with  a  fearful  roar,  behind  the  steamer. 

A  great  wave  lifted  her  stern,  and  with  a  violent  plunge 
she  seemed  to  be  going  down  to  the  bottom.  It  was  a  trying 
moment  for  those  on  board,  but  the  good  ship  slowly  came  up, 
her  deck  covered  with  ice-fragments,  and  cataracts  of  water 
streaming  from  her  on  all  sides.  After  a  few  convulsive 
tossings  on  the  disturbed  waters  she  righted,  and  managed  to 
get  out  of  that  dangerous  neighborhood.  It  was  an  extremely 
narrow  escape. 

There  are  many  berg-producing  glaciers  on  the  Greenland 
coast.     The  largest    known, —  the  Humboldt, —  was  reported 


ABOUT    ICEBERGS. 


199 


by  Doctor  Kane  as  extending  forty  miles  along  the  coast,  and 
presenting  a  perpendicular  front  three  hundred  feet  high. 
The  glacier,  which  has  been  measured  most  carefull}',  is 
eighteen  hundred  feet  wide  and  nine  hundred  feet  thick,  and 
it  advances  at  a  rate  of  forty-seven  feet  a  da}'. 

Sir  John  Ross  once  saw  a  berg  two  and  one-fifth  miles 
broad,  two  and  one-half  miles  long,  and  one  hundred  and 
fift^'-three  feet  high.  He  calculated  that  the  entire  mass 
weighed  fifteen  hundred  million  tons.  In  the  Southern 
Hemisphere  much  larger  bergs  have  been  seen,  towering 
seven  hundred  to  eight  hundred  feet  above  the  waves.  It 
must  not  be  forgotten  that  in  estimating  the  size  of  an 
iceberg  the  visible  portion  is  only  one-ninth  part  of  the  real 
bulk  of  the  whole  mass.  Off  the  Newfoundland  coast  it  is 
quite  common  to  meet  bergs  one  hundred  feet  high  ;  so  that 
the  lowest  peak  of  one  of  these  may  be  eight  hundred  feet 
below  the  waves. 

M.  Harvey. 


An    Ice    Jam. 


=5.     wfS^F-..^^    _.._=_«r2.^T"l 


The   Gulf    Stream. 


The    Gulf   Stream. 

What  is  the  Gulf  Stream  ?  Whence  does  it  come  ?  Where 
does  it  cease  to  flow  ?  To  what  cause  is  it  due  ?  These  questions 
have  been  asked  from  the  time  when  Columbus  made  his  great 
voyage  of  discovery  four  hundred  years  ago,  down  to  the 
present  day,  and  even  now  some  of  them  have  not  been 
satisfactorily  answered. 

Lieutenant  Maury  began  his  description  of  this  wonderful 
phenomenon  with  the  expression,  "There  is  a  river  in  the 
ocean."  The  phrase  explains  in  few  words  exactly  what  the 
Gulf  Stream  is.  It  flows  along  the  coast  of  North  America 
from  the  lower  extremity  of  Florida  to  Cape  Hatteras,  and 
thence  crosses  the  Atlantic  toward  the  shores  of  Europe. 
Like  land  rivers,  it  has  its  source,  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  which 
is  fed  from  the  Caribbean  Sea.  This  in  turn  receives  its  water 
from  the  eastern  Atlantic  Ocean,  into  which  the  Gulf  Stream 
itself  pours  its  own  supply,  so  that  there  is,  in  reality,  a  grand 
circular  movement  of  the  whole  ocean,  of  which  the  Gulf 
Stream  is  a  portion. 

Our  ocean  river  does  not  run  dry,  like  those  on  land,  nor 
does  it  do  much  harm  when,  like  the  Mississippi,  it  overflows  its 
banks,  because  its  banks  are  water,  and  can  easily  be  pressed 
aside.  It  always  flows  in  about  the  same  place  over  the 
bottom,  too,  and  when  it  does  change  its  position  it  is  only  in 
accordance  with  a  law,  which  makes  it  return  to  its  original 
position  after  a  regular  time  as  certain  as  that  spring  follows 
winter.  It  does  not  always  flow  on  the  surface  of  the  sea,  for 
occasionally  it  dashes  along  below  the  waves  ;  but  the  same 
law  guides  it,  and  after  awhile  it  is  sure  to  rise  again  to  the 
light  of  day. 

This  river  is  very  warm,  because  it  comes  from  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico  and  the  Caribbean  Sea,  where  the  sun  has  been 
heating  it  for  a  long   time.     Of   course,  after  it  has  left  its 


202  THE    GULF   STREAM. 

southern  home,  and  is  making  its  journey  across  the  Atlantic, 
it  is  gradually  becoming  cooler  ;  but,  nevertheless,  it  maintains 
to  the  shores  of  Europe,  even  well  up  toward  the  Arctic 
regions,  a  much  higher  temperature  than  that  of  the  sur- 
rounding air  or  water. 

It  has  its  own  finny  inhabitants  and  other  animal  life  ; 
curious  little  fish  and  crabs  that  make  nests  in  the  floating 
sea-weed  ;  beautiful  little  jelly-fish  called  thimble-fish,  floating 


Beneath    the    Surface. 


or  swimming  near  its  surface  in  such  countless  numbers  that 
at  times  the  waters  are  brown  with  them  ;  and  the  graceful 
flying-fish,  which  dart  out  of  the  water  in  schools;  and 
countless  myriads  of  minute  animal  life  floating  about,  so  that, 
when  the  sun  is  shining  high  in  the  heavens,  the  water  seems 


THE    GULF   STREAM.  203 

to  be  filled  with  motes.  These  little  things,  dying,  sink  to 
the  bottom,  and  their  diminutive  skeletons  or  shells  go  to 
form  an  ooze,  which  if  exposed  to  the  air  and  to  pressure, 
resembles  chalk. 

This  ocean  river  is  quite  unlike  the  rivers  of  the  land  in 
point  of  size.  The  Mississippi,  at  a  point  below  its  lowest 
tributary,  is  about  two  thousand  feet  wide  and  one  hundred 
feet  deep.  At  places  it  is  wider  than  this,  but  there  it  is 
shallower.  The  Gulf  Stream,  at  its  narrowest  point  in  the 
Strait  of  Florida,  is  more  than  two  thousand  feet  deep,  and 
over  forty  miles  wide. 

In  point  of  speed,  but  few  navigable  rivers  in  the  world 
equal  the  Gulf  Stream.  It  hurries  along  three,  four,  five,  and 
sometimes  over  six  miles  an  hour.  Even  three  miles  is  fast 
enough  to  dela}-  or  assist  in  a  great  degree,  in  the  course  of 
twenty-four  hours,  an}-  vessel  which  happens  to  be  in  its 
influence. 

The  water  is  a  beautiful  deep  blue,  and  so  clear  that  one 
may  look  far  into  its  depths.  On  the  edge  nearest  the  coast, 
where  it  presses  against  the  colder  shore  w^ater,  its  line  of 
meeting  with  the  shore  water  is  frequently  so  sharply  defined 
that  at  one  end  of  the  vessel  you  may  have  the  clear  warm 
water  from  the  south,  while  at  the  other  end  is  the  cold  murk}- 
water  from  the  north. 

Nature  is  always  wonderful,  and  one  can  hardl}'  fail  to  be 
impressed  by  the  grandeur  of  high  mountains,  lofty  precipices, 
immense  forests,  glaciers  and  waterfalls,  but  the  Gulf  Stream 
is  the  greatest  of  all  of  nature's  wonders  on  this  earth.  It  is 
impossible  to  realize  the  immensit}'  of  it,  because  it  does  not 
appeal  to  the  eye,  and  the  mind  can  hardly  grasp  its  magnitude 
by  the  aid  of  an  array  of  figures. 

We  all  know  that  the  sea  water  is  salt.  Contained  in  every 
thousand  pounds  of  water  there  are  thirty-five  pounds  of  saline 
matter.  Now  if  3'ou  could  stand  on  the  shore  of  Florida,  and 
could  take  all  of  this  saline  matter  out  of  the  water  of  the 
Gulf  Stream  as  it  flowed  past,  during  only  one  minute  of 
time,  all  the  vessels  in  the  world  at  the  present  time  would 


204  THE    GULF   STREAM. 

not  be  enough  to  carry  the  load.  When  Cohimbus  crossed 
the  ocean  to  America  for  the  first  time  in  1492,  he  discovered 
the  existence  of  the  current  which  enters  the  Caribbean  Sea, 
and  helps  to  form  our  Gulf  Stream.  All  the  old  Spanish 
navigators  noticed  this  current,  and  wondered  what  could  be 
its  cause. 

Columbus  gave  a  reason  which  was  generally  accepted  as 
correct  for  many  years.  He  saw  that  the  heavenly  bodies 
appeared  to  rise  in  the  east,  and  go  down  in  the  west ;  that 
the  winds  in  the  tropics  always  blow  from  the  east,  and  the 
currents  of  the  ocean  move  in  the  same  direction.  So  he 
concluded  that  the  fluid  and  gaseous  elements  on  the  earth's 
surface,  the  air  and  the  water,  simply  partook  of  the  motion 
of  the  sky,  and  all  went  around  the  earth  together. 

The  Gulf  Stream  itself  was  not  discovered  until  the  famous 
Ponce  de  I^eon  went  to  search  for  the  Fountain  of  Youth. 
The  natives  told  of  a  wonderful  well  or  spring  on  the  Island 
of  Bimini,  and  the  Spaniards,  who  were  always  on  the  lookout 
for  remarkable  or  valuable  objects,  fitted  out  this  expedition 
of  discovery. 

They  did  not  know  where  Bimini  was,  except  that  it  was 
somewhere  northwest  of  Porto  Rico  ;  but  they  set  out,  hoping 
to  find  the  means  of  cheating  time,  and  making  the  old  young 
again.  They  sailed  along  the  eastern  side  of  the  Bahama 
Islands,  and  finally  reached  the  coast  of  Florida.  Then  they 
turned  south,  and  sailed  against  the  current  for  several  hundred 
miles,  all  the  time  wondering  where  the  water  came  from 
without  exhausting  the  supply,  and  where  it  went  to  without 
filling  up  some  other  place. 

After  several  years  it  was  concluded  by  many  persons  that 
all  the  water  of  the  sea  was  moving  ;  that  it  reached  a  hole  in 
the  earth  and  went  down,  and  at  some  other  point,  a  great 
distance  away,  returned  again  to  the  surface  at  the  .starting- 
point  of  that  or  some  other  current. 

In  quite  recent  years  the  government  has  .started  out  to 
ascertain  the  laws  of  this  river.  A  steamer  is  anchored  in  the 
ocean,  and  from  it  the  speed  and  direction  of  the  water,  as  it 


THE   GULF   STREAM.  205 

flows  past,  is  measured  directly,  not  only  on  the  surface,  but 
hundreds  of  feet  below.  Steamers  have  alread}'  anchored  in 
water  nearly  two  miles  and  a  half  deep,  and  probably  there  is 
no  spot  in  the  ocean  at  which  we  shall  not  be  able,  before  long, 
to  observe  the  currents. 

Instead  of  employing  a  chain,  as  vessels  ordinarily  do 
when  anchoring  in  harbors,  these  steamers  use  a  long,  steel 
wire  rope,  which  is  lowered,  pulled  in,  and  wound  up  on  a 
large  iron  spool,  by  steam-engines. 

In  this  way  we  have  learned  that  this  great  river  is 
governed  by  laws  such  as  those  which  govern  the  tides.  You 
will  remember  that  the  tides  rise  and  fall  generallj^  twice  each 
day,  the  greatest  rise  and  fall  during  the  month  coming  about 
the  time  of  the  new  and  full  moon. 

In  the  same  way  the  Gulf  Stream's  current  varies  in 
strength  every  day,  and  at  different  times  in  the  month, 
depending  upon  the  position  of  the  moon  in  the  heavens.  It 
varies  in  temperature  according  to  the  season,  and  in  position, 
too,  a  little  ;  but  the  grand  stream  is  not  erratic.  All  its 
movements  are  fixed  b)-  laws  that  do  not  change. 

It  is  maintained  by  some,  that  the  current  moved  so  far  to 
the  northward  a  few^  3'ears  ago  that  it  bathed  the  shores  of 
Nantucket  and  Long  Island,  causing  the  weather  in  New 
England  to  be  warmer  than  usual.  This  conclusion  was  based 
upon  the  fact  that  sea-captains  found  the  warm  water  farther 
north  than  usual,  and  on  the  finding  of  a  floating  sea-weed, 
peculiar  to  warm  waters,  much  nearer  the  shore  than  cus- 
toraar}^  But  as  we  have  seen,  the  temperature  is  a  poor  guide 
as  to  the  limits  of  the  current ;  and  the  same  wind  and  waves 
that  can  carry  the  water  can  also  carrj-  the  small  fragments  of 
floating  weed. 

Then,  too,  if  the  current  did  reach  the  shores,  it  could 
hardly  temper  the  climate  far  inland  unless  the  wind  carried 
the  heated  air ;  and  this  the  wind  can  do  about  as  well  from 
the  regular  position  of  the  current  as  from  any  position  to 
which  it  may  have  moved. 

The   month  of    December,    1889,   was  very  warm   for  the 


2o6  THE   GULF   STREAM. 

season  of  the  year,  and  the  cause  was  assigned  by  many  to  the 
erratic  movement  of  the  Gulf  Stream.  East  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains  the  United  States  Signal  Service  had  eighty-six 
signal  stations,  and  at  sixty-five  of  these  stations,  many  of 
them  over  a  thousand  miles  from  the  sea,  the  temperature  for 
the  month  was  many  degrees  above  normal. 

At  Cape  Hatteras  the  stream  is  always,  winter  and  summer, 
very  near, —  indeed,  it  is  just  outside  the  shoals,— and  yet 
here  the  temperature  was  more  than  six  degrees  warmer  than 
the  normal. 

For  the  cause  of  this  we  must  look  to  the  air,  and  not  the 
water.  As  it  happened  during  December,  the  air  pressure  as 
shown  by  the  barometer  was  higher  than  usual  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  and  the  Southern  States,  and  much 
lower  toward  Canada,  so  that  the  general  movement  of  air  was 
from  the  warmer  toward  the  colder  parts  of  the  continent. 
The  Gulf  of  Mexico  and  the  Gulf  Stream  are  warm,  and  the 
heated  air,  rising  from  them,  was  carried  north,  and  so 
tempered  the  weather  for  the  month. 

Now  what  is  the  cause  of  the  Gulf  Stream  ?  Some  say 
that  the  water  in  the  tropics,  being  heated,  and  consequently 
lighter  than  the  cold,  heavy  polar  water,  flows  northward  on 
the  surface,  and  the  other  water  southward,  underneath. 
Others  say  that  the  Trade  Winds,  always  blowing  in  one 
direction  toward  the  west,  blow  the  water  along,  too,  and  so 
begin  and  afterward  keep  up  the  movement.  Both  are,  perhaps, 
right  to  a  certain  extent,  as  to  currents  in  general,  but  the 
Gulf  Stream  is  probably  almost  wholly  due  to  the  wind  and 
the  waves  alone.  The  water  is  pushed  by  the  wind,  and 
thrown  by  the  waves  into  the  Caribbean  Sea,  from  the  western 
end  of  which  the  accumulation  of  water  runs  into  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico,  and  from  there  it  escapes  through  the  Strait  of 
Florida  into  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 

J.    E.    PiLLSBURY. 


The    Kuro    Siwo. 

Those  of  our  readers  who  study  geography,  and  especially 
physical  geography,  will  hardly  have  failed  to  notice  the 
remarkable  difference  between  the  climate  of  the  eastern,  or 
Atlantic  coast  of  North  America  and  that  of  the  western,  or 
Pacific  coast  in  the  same  latitude. 

Take,  for  example,  the  shores  of  Newfoundland,  Labrador 
and  Greenland,  as  compared  with  those  of  Vancouver's  Island, 
Queen  Charlotte  Islands  and  Alaska.  On  the  Atlantic  coast 
are  found  icebergs,  icefields,  frozen  bays,  stunted  shrubs,  and 
only  the  most  hardy  of  plants  and  grasses,  while  on  the  Pacific 
coast  are  noble  forests,  luxuriant  grasses,  and  a  generally 
equable  climate  throughout  the  year. 

Juneau  and  Sitka  in  Alaska  are  but  three  degrees  farther 
south  than  Cape  Farewell,  the  southern  point  of  Greenland, 
and  they  are  ten  degrees  farther  north  than  the  southern  part 
of  Newfoundland.  But  at  Juneau  herd's-grass  may  be  seen 
growing  seven  feet  in  height,  and  the  flourishing  kitchen 
gardens  are  untouched  by  frost  till  late  in  September. 

About  Sitka  are  grand  old  woods,  where  firs  and  hemlocks 
grow  to  a  great  size.  The  cedars  of  the  Queen  Charlotte 
Islands  also  attain  an  enormous  size,  larger  even  than  the 
famous  cedars  of  scripturally  classic  Lebanon.  From  these 
great  cedar  trunks  the  Haida  Indians  excavate  immense 
canoes,  often  sixty  feet  in  length  by  six  or  eight  in  breadth, — 
which  are  capable  of  carrying  a  party  of  forty  or  fifty  warriors. 

We  are  so  accustomed  to  regard  climate  as  regulated  by 
the  distance  from  the  equator,  that  these  facts  seem  strange, 
and  we  are  led  to  inquire  the  cause.  Why  does  the  west  coast 
have  so  much  the  milder  and  better  climate  ?  The  answer  is 
in  two  words  : 

"  Kuro  Siwo." 

These   two  words   are  from   the   Japanese  language   and 


208 


THE    KURO   SIWO. 


signify  "Black  Stream."  The  Kuro  Si  wo  —  so  called  from 
the  tint  of  the  water  within  its  limits  —  is  a  northeasterly 
deflection  of  the  great  ocean  current  which  flows  north  from 
the  equatorial  seas  and  renders  the  climate  of  the  Japan 
Islands  so  equable  and  fruitful.  A  part  of  this  warm  stream 
in  the  ocean  crosses  the  Pacific  from  the  coasts  of  Asia,  and, 


Drifted    by   the    Kuro    Siwo. 


caught  in  the 

great  bight  of  the 

Alaska    peninsula 

and    the    Aleutian 

islets,  flows  in  and 

out  among  all  those 

hundreds  of  islands,  from  Sitka  southward  to  Vancouver,  and 

gives  to  this  whole  coast  its  moist,  mild  winter. 

But  not  alone  has  the  Kuro  Siw^o  brought  warmth  and 
moisture  to  the  northwest  coast ;  it  is  now^  credited,  by  some 
scientific  men,  with  having  borne  the  first  human  inhabitants 
to  America. 

Eighty-five  years  ago,  while  the  Russians  were  still  in 
possession  of  Alaska, —  or  Russian  America,  as  it  was  then 
called, —  the  attention  of  the  good  people  of  Sitka  was  attracted 


THE    KURO   SIWO.  209 

one  morning  to  a  strange-looking  craft,  which  had  apparently 
come  ashore  during  the  night  on  one  of  the  hundred  little, 
rocky,  wooded  islands  that  lie  about  the  harbor  —  the  islet 
which  to-day  bears  the  name  of  Japonskoi. 

Boats  were  manned,  and  those  who  approached  the  stranger 
found  it  to  be  the  dismasted,  half  water-logged  and  unman- 
ageable hull  of  a  Japanese  junk.  Strange  to  say,  there  were 
ten  or  twelve  Japanese  on  board,  nearly  dead  from  exposure, 
disease  and  famine. 

The  junk  had  been  dismasted  in  a  tempest,  while  on  a 
voyage  from  one  Japanese  port  to  another,  and,  beyond  the 
power  of  the  hapless  crew  to  prevent  it,  had  drifted  steadily 
northeastward  in  the  Kuro  Siwo,  which  sets  constantly  and 
quite  strongly  from  the  coasts  of  China  and  Japan  across  the 
Pacific  toward  America. 

Thus  we  have  it  demonstrated  that  even  within  the  present 
century  the  Kuro  Siwo  has  borne  human  beings  from  Asia, 
the  "great  mother  of  the  human  race,"  to  America.  There 
are  also  traditions  that,  on  two  former  occasions,  Japanese  or 
Chinese  junks  have  drifted  to  the  coast  of  America  farther 
southward.  How  many  times  these  significant  accidents  may 
have  occurred  in  the  great  unwritten  past  of  our  continent  no 
one  knows,  and  who  shall  attempt  to  say  ? 

Many  ethnologists  believe  that  the  aboriginal  Indian  tribes 
of  America  are  of  the  same  race  and  origin  as  the  early  people 
of  Siberia  and  Japan.     Did  the  Kuro  Siwo  bring  them  ? 

There  have  been  many  theories  as  to  how  America  was 
first  peopled  :  one,  that  the  earliest  inhabitants  came  hither 
from  the  mythic  sunken  continent  of  Atlantis  ;  another,  that 
they  were  the  far-wandering  "  lost  tribes"  of  Israel,  and  still 
another  that  they  crossed  Bering's  Straits  on  the  ice  from  Asia. 

This  last  theory,  suggested  by  the  Japanese  junk  borne  to 
Sitka  by  the  Kuro  Siwo,  may  bear  examination,  but,  like 
other  .speculations  of  the  class,  it  is  incapable  of  proof  —  and 
not  of  other  than  strictly  scientific  value,  even  if  it  could  be 
proved  true. 

C.  A.  Stephens. 


The    Trade   Winds. 


Most  people  have  heard  or  read  of  the  Trade  Winds  —  or 
simply  "The  Trades,"  as  they  are  called  by  sailors  —  but 
probably  it  is  not  generally  known  what  causes  these  winds 
and  where  they  are  found. 

It  is  easy  to  understand  that  a  wind  which  is  steady  in 
force  and  constant  in  direction  is  of  great  benefit  to  sailing 

vessels,  and  it  is  from 
this  advantage  to  navi- 
gators —  and  hence  to 
trade  — that  the  Trade 
Winds  take  their  name. 
These  winds  are  per- 
manent over  both  the 
land  and  water,  prevail- 
ing in,  and  often  beyond, 
the  torrid  zone.  As  the 
air  within  this  zone  re- 
ceives a  greater  amount 
of  heat  than  the  air 
outside,  it  rises,  and  its 
place  is  supplied  by  the 
colder  air  which  rushes  in  from  beyond  the  tropics. 

If  the  earth  were  at  rest,  it  is  evident  that  a  north  wind 
would  blow  in  the  northern  half  of  the  torrid  zone,  and  a 
south  wind  in  the  southern  half.  But  the  earth,  instead  of 
being  at  rest,  revolves  on  its  axis  from  west  to  east.  A  little 
reflection  will  enable  any  one  to  understand  that  the  greatest 
velocity  resulting  from  this  rotation  must  be  found  at  the 
Equator,  and  that  as  one  recedes  from  the  Equator,  the  velocity 
diminishes  until  the  pole  is  reached,  where  it  is  nothing. 

The  wind  which  is  rushing  toward  the  Equator  has  con- 
tinually a  less  velocity  than  that  of  the  surface  over  which  it 


A    Fair    Wind. 


THE    TRADE    WINDS.  211 

passes,  and  so  falls  behind  more  and  more  as  the  Equator  is 
approached.  This  gives  it  a  direction  opposite  to  the  earth's 
rotation,  in  other  words,  a  direction  from  the  east  to  the  west, 
which,  combined  with  the  motion  from  the  north  and  south, 
before  mentioned,  gives  as  a  result  the  northeast  Trades  in 
the  Northern  Hemisphere,  and  the  southeast  Trades  in  the 
Southern  Hemisphere. 

Speaking  roughly,  the  limits  of  the  Trades  are  thirty 
degrees  north  latitude  and  thirty  degrees  south  latitude, 
between  the  two  being  a  band  of  calms  and  light,  variable 
airs.  This  belt  is  called  "The  Doldrums,"  perhaps  from 
the  old  Spanish  word  "dolorosa," — signifying  tormenting, 
which  a  region  of  calms  and  variables  undoubtedly  is  to  a 
sailing  vessel.  The  Doldrums  are  the  meeting  ground  of  the 
northeast  and  the  southeast  Trades,  and  at  this  meeting  point 
they  have  a  neutralizing  effect  on  each  other.  Here  rains  are 
heavy  and  frequent. 

The  limits  of  the  Trades  are  constantly  changing,  varying 
with  the  season  of  the  year.  Following  the  motion  of  the  sun 
in  the  heavens,  in  the  summer  they  extend  perhaps  two  or 
three  hundred  miles  farther  toward  the  north,  and  in  winter 
they  recede  toward  the  south.  It  will  be  understood  from 
this  that  the  belt  of  Equatorial  calms  is  variable  in  position  as 
it  also  is  in  width.  In  spring  its  centre  is  found  about  one 
hundred  miles  north  of  the  Equator,  while  in  summer  it 
extends  five  hundred  miles  higher  in  latitude.  Its  width  is 
ordinarily  three  hundred  miles,  but  sometimes  it  is  thrice  as 
wide,  and  then  again  there  is  occasionally  no  dividing  line 
between  the  Trades,  and  vessels  are  fortunate  enough  to  run 
directly  from  one  into  the  other. 

To  come  now  from  the  Trades  in  general  to  the  Trades  of  the 
Atlantic.  These  have  been  known  for  centuries.  Columbus 
probably  noted  the  northeast  Trades  on  his  first  voyage  of 
discovery.  When  not  interrupted  by  hurricanes,  which  are 
uncommon,  except  in  August,  September  and  October,  this 
northeast  Trade  Wind  region  is  a  veritable  summer  sea,  so 
much  so,  indeed,  that  it  was  called  "The  Lady's  Gulf"  by 


212  THE    TRADE    WINDS. 

the  old  Spanish  navigators.  It  extends  from  the  Doldrums  to 
the  Horse  Latitudes,  which  is  a  belt  of  calms  and  variable 
winds  found  between  thirty  degrees  and  thirty-five  degrees 
north  latitude,  according  to  the  season  of  the  year,  and  takes 
its   peculiar   name   from   the    fact   that  in  early  days,  ships 


in  carrying  cargoes  of  horses  from  Europe  to  the 
West  Indies  frequently  found  it  necessary  to  throw  them 
overboard,  owing  to  the  frequent  changes  — rains,  thunder, 
lightning,  puffs,  and  calms  following  each  other  in  rapid 
succession  in  this  perplexing  region. 

Both  the  northeast  and  southeast  Trades  of  the  Atlantic 
blow  over  a  wider  extent  on  the  African  than  on  the  American 
side,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  the  Doldrums  are  much  broader 
on  the  eastern  side,  making  it  a  part  of  the  ocean  to  be  avoided, 
if  possible.  The  southeast  Trades  are  much  stronger  and 
constant  than  the  northeast,  which  are,  in  fact,  somewhat 
capricious,    frequently   showing    breaks    in    their    regularity 


THE    TRADE    WINDS. 


213 


which  it  is  hard  to  account  for.  I  have,  after  experiencing 
very  fair  southeast  Trades,  steamed  entirely  across  the 
northeast  Trade  Wind  region,  in  the  month  of  May,  without 
finding  any  wind  at  all  to  speak  of. 

It  is  hard  to   explain   why,   on  a  given  day,   a  vessel  in 
this  region    should  find   good,  steady  Trades,  while   on   the* 


same  day,  another  vessel,  a  few  miles  east  or  west  of  the  first, 
should  encounter  nothing  but  calms. 

The  Trade  Wind  regions  are  a  delight  to  the  mariner: 
Fogs  are  seldom  experienced,  and  gales  rarely  occur.  The 
weather  is  pleasant  and  the  air  dry.  The  wind  being  constant, 
the  captain  and  officers  have  very  little  anxiety,  and  the 
sailors  still  less,  of  the  usual  and  monotonous  work  of  setting 
and  taking  in  sail,  reefing,  and  bracing  yards.  In  fact,  vessels 
sometimes  "run  down  the  Trades"  under  all  sail,  and  for 
days  together  there  is  no  necessity  of  touching  a  rope. 


E.  B.  Underwood. 


The    Mariners'    Compass. 

' '  Do  not  speak  to  the  man  at  the  wheel ' '  is  printed  on  the 
vvheelhouse  of  many  sea-going  steamers.  Why  must  the  man 
at  the  wheel  not  be  spoken  to  ? 

Because,  during  his  two  hours'  turn,  his  attention  ought 
to  be  fixed  upon  his  compass.  Let  him  turn  to  a  passenger 
to  answer  a  question,  and  the  vessel  will  depart  slightly  from 
her  course.  Time  will  be  lost,  force  will  be  wasted,  and  the 
steersman  will  hear  a  short,  sharp  word  from  the  officer  of  the 
deck,  calling  him  back  to  his  duty. 

The  compass  is  the  very  eye  of  the  ship.  A  skilful  seaman, 
using  the  knowledge  which  the  compass  has  already  given 
him,  could  navigate  a  vessel  across  the  Atlantic  —  in  time. 
It  is  the  compass  that  enables  the  captain  to  shoot  his  arrowy 
steamer  over  the  trackless  sea  in  less  than  a  week,  through 
fog,  darkness  and  storm,  without  swerving  from  his  course. 

Man  possesses  few  instruments  more  valuable  than  this, 
and  yet  no  one  knows  who  invented  it.  If  we  ask  the  Chinese, 
the  people  who  invented  so  many  useful  things,  they  point  to 
some  obscure  passages  in  their  ancient  books,  which  do  not 
prove  their  claim.  If  the  Chinese  had  the  compass,  why  did 
they  not  use  it  ?  From  time  immemorial  their  lumbering 
junks  hugged  the  shore,  and  rarely  ventured  farther  out  to 
sea  than  to  Japan,  which  is  only  a  few  miles  from  the  coast  of 
A.sia. 

If  we  ask  the  Greeks,  we  begin  to  get  a  little  light  on 
the  subject,  for  the  Greeks  at  least  knew  something  of  the 
attractive  power  of  the  magnet. 

They  tell  us,  in  their  mythological  way,  that  a  shepherd 
named  Magnes,  while  pasturing  his  flock  upon  Mount  Ida, 
found  one  day  that  the  iron  at  the  end  of  his  staff  adhered  to 
the  ground,  and  to  the  nails  upon  his  shoes.  He  picked  up 
some  of  the  dark-colored  stones  under  his  feet,  brought  them 


THE    mariners'    COMPASS. 


215 


home  with  him,  and  thus  gave  to  mankind  a  knowledge  of  the 
magnet,  which  was  named  after  him.  The  Greeks  w^ere  great 
story-tellers.  They  had  their  legends  about  everything,  and 
this  about  Magnes  is  one  of  them,  from  which  we  can  at  least 
learn  that  they  were  acquainted  with  the  magnet's  power  of 
attraction  ;  but  they  knew  nothing  of  that  valuable  quality' 
which  it  imparts  to  the  needle  of  the  compass.     The}^  knew 


^.Uai,( 


A    Chinese    Junk. 


no  method  of  steering  vessels  in  the  open  sea  except  by  the 
stars,  the  flight  of  birds,  and  glimpses  of  the  distant  headlands. 

Nor  did  the  Romans.  The  Roman  writers  were  lost  in 
wonder  at  the  magnet's  attractive  power,  but  there  their 
knowledge  of  it  ended.  The  elder  Pliny  speaks  of  it  with  the 
simple  amusement  of  a  little  child. 

"  What  is  there  in  existence,"  he  asks,  "more  inert  than 


2l6  THE    mariners'    COMPASS. 

a  piece  of  rigid  stone  ?  And  yet,  behold  !  Nature  has  here 
endowed  stone  with  both  sense  and  hands.  What  is  there 
more  stubborn  than  hard  iron  ?  Nature  has  in  this  instance 
bestowed  upon  it  both  feet  and  intelligence.  It  allows  itself, 
in  fact,  to  be  attracted  by  the  magnet.  .  .  .  The  moment 
the  metal  comes  near  it,  it  springs  toward  the  magnet,  and,  as 
it  clasps  it,  is  held  fast  in  the  magnet's  embraces." 

This  was  written  about  the  year  seventy  of  our  era,  and 
there  is  no  proof  that  any  one  in  the  world  had  yet  detected 
the  marvellous  power  of  the  magnet  to  impart  to  a  piece  of 
iron  the  propensity  to  point  to  the  north.  The  passage  in  the 
New  Testament  which  describes  the  eventful  voyage  and 
shipwreck  of  St.  Paul  speaks  (Acts  28  :  13)  of  "fetching  a 
compass,"  but  the  new  version  gives  a  better  translation,  "  we 
made  a  circuit,  and  came  to  Rhegium."  No  Mediterranean 
pilot  in  the  time  of  St.  Paul  steered  his  bark  by  the  aid  of  the 
magnetic  needle. 

It  was  at  some  time  near  the  end  of  the  twelfth  century  of 
the  Christian  era  that  the  mysterious  power  of  the  magnet 
upon  the  needle  became  known  to  a  few  of  the  learned  men  of 
Europe.  Probably  the  knowledge  of  it  was  brought  to  them 
by  the  Crusaders  returning  from  the  Holy  Land,  and  there  is 
much  reason  to  believe  that  this  power  of  the  magnet  was  first 
observ^ed  by  the  Arabs,  an  ingenious  race,  and  the  most  skilful 
travellers  in  the  Middle  Ages,  whether  on  land  or  sea.  The 
Crusaders  began  to  return  home  in  numbers  about  A.  D.  1 100, 
and  the  knowledge  of  the  magnetic  needle  gradually  spread 
over  the  north  of  Europe.  The  bold  Norwegians  seem  to 
have  been  the  first  to  use  the  needle  in  navigating  the  sea. 

In  the  year  1258,  a  learned  Italian,  named  Brunetto  Eatini, 
who  was  afterwards  tutor  to  the  poet  Dante,  travelled  in 
England,  and  visited  at  Oxford  Friar  Roger  Bacon,  a  man 
devoted  to  the  pursuit  of  science. 

Eatini  wrote  letters  home  to  his  friends,  in  one  of  which  he 
says  that  Friar  Bacon  showed  him,  among  other  things,  "a 
black,  ugly  stone  called  a  magnet,  which  has  the  surprising 
property  of  drawing  iron  to  it,  and  upon  which,  if  a  needle  be 


On    the    Bridge    of    an    Ocean    Steamship. 


2l8  THE    mariners'    COMPASS. 

rubbed  and  afterwards  fastened  to  a  straw,  so  that  it  shall 
swim  upon  water,  the  needle  will  instantly  turn  toward  the 
Pole  Star;  so  that,  be  the  night  ever  so  dark,  neither  moon 
nor  star  visible,  yet  shall  the  mariner  be  able,  by  the  help  of 
this  needle,  to  steer  his  vessel  aright." 

Here  we  have  the  fact  plainly  stated,  as  it  had  been  known 
to  a  few  persons  in  England  and  France  for  many  years. 
Friar  Bacon  imparted  this  knowledge  to  the  Italian  traveller 
as  a  dreadful  secret,  perilous  to  disclose  to  the  common  people, 
and  still  more  perilous  to  make  known  to  the  ordinary  priests 
of  the  age.  Latini  explains  the  reason,  and  in  truth,  Roger 
Bacon  passed  ten  years  of  his  life  a  prisoner,  partly  because 
he  knew  a  little  too  much  of  the  secrets  of  nature,  and  partly 
because  he  advocated  the  reform  of  the  church. 

"  This  discovery,"  continues  Latini,  "  which  appears  useful 
in  so  great  a  degree  to  all  who  travel  by  sea,  must  remain 
concealed  until  other  times  ;  because  no  master-mariner  dares 
to  use  it,  lest  he  should  fall  under  the  supposition  of  being  a 
magician  ;  nor  would  even  the  sailors  venture  themselves  out 
to  sea  under  his  command,  if  he  took  with  him  an  instrument 
which  carries  so  great  an  appearance  of  being  constructed 
under  the  influence  of  some  infernal  spirit." 

These  two  learned  men  conversed  upon  this  wondrous 
quality  of  the  magnet,  and  they  looked  forward  to  some 
happier  time,  when  men  should  be  more  enlightened,  and  not 
afraid  to  make  researches  in  natural  science.  Then,  said 
lyatini,  mankind  will  reap  the  benefit  of  the  labors  of  such 
men  as  Friar  Bacon,  and  bestow  honor  upon  them  "  instead  of 
obloquy  and  reproach." 

Neither  Bacon  nor  Latini  lived  to  see  that  better  time  for 
which  they  hoped.  When  they  had  been  dead  a  hundred  and 
fifty  years,  the  Portuguese,  under  Prince  Henry,  the  Navigator, 
were  using  the  compass  in  their  voyages  down  the  African 
coast.  In  a  few  years  the  Madeiras  and  the  other  Atlantic 
groups  were  discovered  by  its  assistance. 

The  Cape  of  Good  Hope  was  turned,  and  India  reached  by 
sea.     One  of  the  mariners    formed    in    the  school  of   Prince 


THE    mariners'    COMPASS.  219 

Henry  was  a  man  destined  to  put  the  compass  to  the  sublime 
use  of  discovering  a  new  world. 

Seamen  did  not  long  employ  so  awkward  an  instrument  as 
a  needle  floating  in  a  straw  on  a  basin  of  water.  About  the 
year  1300  an  Italian  navigator,  named  Flavio  Gioja,  there  is 
good  reason  to  believe,  constructed  the  compass  such  as  we 
now  commonly  have,  a  needle  mounted  upon  a  pivot,  and 
enclosed  in  a  box. 

The  Italian  word  for  compass  is  bossola,  which  signifies 
box  ;  and  from  this  the  French  word  for  compass  is  derived, 
boussole,  which  also  means  box. 

These  were  admirable  improvements,  and  made  such  an 
impression  that  the  improver  is  frequently  spoken  of  as  the 
inventor  of  the  compass.  The  true  inventor  was  the  unknown 
man — when  did  he  live,  and  where  did  he  live?  no  one  can 
tell  —  who  first  observed  that  a  needle,  rubbed  by  the  magnet, 
has  an  inclination  to  point  to  the  north. 

One  curious  fact  remains  to  be  mentioned.  The  modern 
compasses,  those  used  in  the  naval  services  of  Europe  and 
America,  as  well  as  by  the  Atlantic  steamships,  resemble  in 
principle  the  needle  and  floating  straw  mentioned  by  Roger 
Bacon. 

Ritchie's  "liquid  compass"  has  the  needle  enclosed  in  a 
thin,  round  metal  case,  air-tight,  which  floats  upon  liquid, 
and  has  also  the  support  of  a  pivot.  The  needle,  being  thus 
upheld  by  the  liquid,  can  be  heavier,  and  thus  have  a  more 
powerful  directing  force. 

This  we  may  call  a  return  to  first  principles.  So  much  for 
the  history  of  the  compass,  which  has  doubled  the  area  of 
civilization,  and  brought  the  two  great  continents  within  easy 
visiting  distance  of  one  another.  A  needle  in  a  straw,  afloat 
in  a  basin  of  water  !  A  charm  hanging  at  a  lady's  watch  ! 
A  box  with  a  card  in  it,  suspended  upon  a  pivot !  What  a 
little  thing  to  be  of  such  immeasurable  value  ! 

James  Parton. 


Minot's    Ledge    Light. 

' '  There  she  towers  !     Spray  clean  over  !  ' ' 

Our  party  stood  on  the  rough  bit  of  New  England  shore 
which  belongs  to  the  government,  and  senses  for  ' '  the  base  of 
supplies  "  to  this,  the  most  noted  of  American  lights. 

Minot's  Ledge  Light  indeed  deserves  to  rank  with  the  first 
three  or  four  in  the  world.  Perhaps  in  point  of  peril  in  building, 
difficulty  of  construction,  tragic  history,  cost,  usefulness, 
picturesque  beauty  as  a  feature  of  the  landscape,  or  the  silent 
heroism  of  its  attending,  no  light  is  its  superior,  not  even  the 
far-famed  Eddystone,  so  inseparably  connected  with  the  name 
of  its  ingenious  and  daring  builder,  John  Smeaton. 

It  was  a  dull-clouded,  harsh  midwinter's  day.  The  mer- 
ciless winds  came  in  from  the  full  Atlantic.  The  sea  ran  high 
in  the  protected  bay  hard  by  where  we  stood.  Far  out  where 
the  bluestone  light  was  breasting  the  waves,  the  rush  of  the 
sea  must  have  been  tremendous  against  that  moveless  citadel 
of  a  beneficent  government's  watch  and  care  for  the  sailor. 

Behind  us  were  the  cottages  where  reside  the  families  of 
the  keeper  and  his  two  assistants.  The  children  of  the  hardy 
men  came  timidly  about  us,  bright  and  pretty.  Plainly,  though 
neatly,  clad  women  showed  faces  at  the  cottage  doors,  and 
courteously  directed  us  "up  on  the  lookout  hill  "  or  "  Beacon 
Hill,"  as  another  called  it,  whence  the  best  possible  shore 
view  of  the  light  could  be  obtained.  As  we  clambered  up  the 
stones  we  asked  all  sorts  of  questions. 

"  You  can  signal  from  here  out  to  your  father  on  the  light  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"You  often  pass  back  and  forth  your  signs,  when  the  .sea 
is  heavy  ? ' ' 

"  Yes.  When  any  one  is  sick  on  shore  father  is  informed 
of  hopes  or  fears,  how  fares  the  sick  one,  by  the  dip  of  a 
lantern  or  the  motions  of  a  flag."     Sometimes  the  father  was 


MINOT'S   LEDGE   LIGHT. 


The    Lantern. 


not  well  when  it  came  his  turn  to  go  back  to  dutj',  and  then 
the  oldest  boy  would  climb  up  every  morning  to  Beacon  Hill, 
to  catch,  with  his  strong  young  eyes  and  a  glass,  the  faint,  far 
signal  from  the  light ;   "  just  to  quiet  mother,"  as  he  explained. 

The  lusty  little  chap  seemed  to  think  it  was  quite  absurd 
to  suppose  such  a  father  as  his  could 
be  very  sick  out  there,  or  die  in  his 
little  round  tower  in  full  sight  of 
home,  though  inaccessible  to  men  at 
times,  still  more  so  to  wife  or  child. 

The  light  stands  upon  a  mere 
thumb  of  rock,  which  was  hardly 
exposed  even  at  low  tide  and  smooth 
water,  yet  it  was  a  couchant  lion  in 
the  way  of  vessels  entering  or  de- 
parting from  Boston  harbor. 

Eighty-eight  feet  high  the  tower 
now  springs  up  from  the  very  midst 
of  the  waters.  To  debark  from  the 
boat  on  the  light  is  never  a  simple  task,  generally  perilous, 
and  many  days  wholly  impossible.  The  task  of  provisioning, 
in  pleasantest  summer  weather,  is  one  of  great  skill  ;  of  course 
everything,  from  a  drop  of  water  to  a  lump  of  coal  or  bottle  of 
medicine,  must  be  stored  in  the  summer-time  for  the  long, 
stormy  New  England  winter. 

In  the  centre  of  the  tower  is  a  well  filled  with  fresh  water, 
a  gigantic  cooler  which,  in  the  warmest  weather,  is  delightfully 
efficient. 

Not  unfrequently  the  most  skilful  handling  of  a  boat 
cannot  prevent  spilling  provisions,  and  even  the  men,  into  this 
rushing,  turbulent  sea.  A  rope's  end  saves  the  bold  keeper, 
and  they  pull  him  in  and  high  up  to  the  door,  but  the  pro- 
visions must  be  replaced. 

Two  of  the  keepers,  at  least,  are  always  on  dut3^  while  one 
is  ashore  taking  a  respite. 

The  men  stay  three  weeks  on  the  light  out  of  every  month  ; 
this  gives  each  man  one  week  with  his  family  out  of  every 


ivimot's    Ledge    Lighthouse. 


MINOT  S    LEDGE    LIGHT.  223 

« 

four,  provided  the  weather  is  such  as  to  admit  transfers  to 
be  made.  On  the  light  one  man  is  always  awake  and  watching 
the  great  lantern. 

A  perfect  meteorological  and  hydrographic  record  is  kept ; 
the  wind,  temperature,  passing  sails  and  their  direction, 
floating  wreckage,  or  any  marine  incident  whatsoever.  The 
writing  of  this  "  log,"  with  necessary  observ^ation,  is  a  welcome 
occupation  to  the  lonely  prisoners  of  duty. 

Comfortable  circular  rooms  occur  in  succession,  one  beneath 
another,  from  the  lantern  down  to  the  solid  base  courses  of 
stone.  A  fifth  of  the  tower,  from  the  rock,  is  dovetailed 
blocks  of  blue  granite.  Rooms  are  especially  set  apart  for 
provisions,  sleeping,  cooking,  charts  and  the  like.  Of  course 
no  exercise,  except  in  a  very  limited  degree,  is  possible  in 
such  narrow  quarters. 

The  pay  is  not  large.  It  varies  somewhat  under  different 
administrations.  The  head  keeper  has  never  received  over 
twelve  hundred  dollars  per  year ;  often  he  has  less.  Yet 
faithful  men  are  never  lacking  who  wish  the  situation  — 
generally  retired  shipmasters  who  are  able  thus  to  eke  out 
"  the  salt  money  "  by  such  added  earnings. 

The  assistants  each  receive  much  less  than  the  head  keeper. 
I  asked  a  brother  of  a  former  keeper  about  life  on  the  light. 
He  said  that  a  heavy  sea  was  most  trying  at  half-tide. 

As  the  gigantic  mid-ocean  breakers  strike  downward  on 
the  ledge  at  the  base  of  the  tower,  the  shock  is  often  tre- 
mendous. It  may  cause  the  stove-lid  to  rattle  out  of  place, 
for  instance,  and  makes  the  entire  structure  shudder. 

The  trembling  gives  a  sickening  sensation  to  one  who  is 
not  accustomed  to  it,  and  is  quite  capable  of  taxing  the 
strongest  nerves.  The  recollection  of  the  two  brave  keepers 
who  perished  when  the  previous  light  was  swept  out  to  sea 
must  come  to  their  adventurous  successors. 

My  informant  thought,  however,  that  only  two  possible 
causes  could  occasion  an  overthrow  of  the  lighthouse.  Earth- 
quake, or  an}^  disturbance  of  the  foundation  rock,  would 
cause  speedy  ruin  ;  so  also,  possibly,  might  a  wreck  coming 


224 


MINOT'S    LEDGE    LIGHT. 


from  the  northeast  at  half-tide  in  a  gale,  the  vessel  being  a 
gigantic  battering-ram. 

No  rush  of  the  sea,  no  storm  of  wind,  no  cloud  of  spray, 
often  practically  covering  the  entire  structure  for  a  moment — 
none  of  these  poetic  terrors  of  the  ocean  had  any  menace  for 
the  intelligent  keeper. 

There  is  a  huge  bell  for  fogs  set  in  horizontally,  in  whose 
throat  and  across  whose  brazen  lips  a  most  curious  and 
melancholy  music  is  made  by  a  gale  of  wind.  The  effect  of 
the  continual  groaning  and  moaning  of  this  unearthly  voice, 
in  deepest  diapason,  my  informant  mentioned  as  exasper- 
atingly  trying  to  the  nerves  at  times. 

He  told  me  that  the  keepers  are  lovers  of  the  sea,  and 
always  interested  in  the  sublimity  of  that  never  dull  point  of 
prospect.  Hours  together  they  sit  dreaming  on  old  ocean, 
and  communing  with  that  great  nature  whom  we  all  regard 
with  wonder,  but  few  of  us  see  in  such  wonderful  moods. 

Emory  J.  Haynes. 


^-^  ^^5^-^. 


..T=.    i. 


Buoys. 


All  who  have  visited  the  approaches  to  a  seaport  town 
have  noticed  the  numerous  buoys  and  marks  which  are  placed 
there  as  aids  to  navigation. 

Tugging  and  jerking  at  their  chains  as  the  tide  sucks  in 
around  them,  or  lying  quietly  upon  the  placid  waters  of  some 
sheltered  bay,  are  black  buoys  and  red  buoys,  buoys  with 
horizontal  black  and  red  stripes,  buoys  with  black  and  white 
vertical  stripes,  and  ding-donging  bell-  and  whistling-buoys. 
Well  out  to  sea  lie  much  larger  buoys,  called  mammoth  buoys, 
gripping  the  sand  with  their  iron  claws. 

Though  these  marks  and  buoys  may  seem  to  have  been 
put  haphazard  here  and  there,  each  has  a  meaning.  The 
place  that  each  shall  occupy  is  carefully  chosen  for  it,  and  its 
arrangement  is  governed  by  a  careful  system. 

These  aids  to  navigation,  which  are  called  "day  marks" 
in  contradistinction  to  the  lights  and  beacons,  fall  under  the 
jurisdiction  of  the  lyighthouse  Board. 

The  coast  of  the  United  States,  including  the  lakes  and 
navigable  rivers,  is  divided  into  sixteen  districts.  A  naval 
officer  is  in  charge  of  each.  Under  his  direction  all  the  buoys 
in  his  district  are  placed. 

In  all  the  districts  similar  buoys  mean  the  same  thing,  and 
a  buoy  that  has  a  particular  distinguishing  color  on  the  coast 
of  Maine  has  the  same  significance  if  in  the  Bay  of  Mobile  or 
off  the  coast  of  Oregon.  So  the  mariner  who  sails  into  Boston 
Harbor  is  guided  and  directed  exactly  in  the  same  way  as  he 
who  enters  the  Golden  Gate. 

Not  only  are  the  colors  and  positions  of  the  buoys  given 
on  the  Coast  Survey  Charts,  but  the  Lighthouse  Board 
publishes  a  yearly  list,  which  is  distributed  gratuitously  for 
the  benefit  of  commerce,  in  which  each  of  its  about  five 
thousand  buoys  is  located  and  described. 


226 


Coming  into  port  from  sea,  the  first  buoy  that  we  pass 
may  be  a  mammoth  buoy.  I  say  "may  be,"  because  these 
buoys  are  only  used  in  special  cases,  such  as  to  mark  the 
approaches  to  channels  over  bars  or  shoals  that  lie  at  a 
considerable  distance  from  the  coast.  The  entrances  to  most 
harbors  do  not  require  any  such  special  marks. 

The  buoys  that  designate  the  channel,  and  which  lie  on 
either  side  of  it,  are  red  and  black.  The  red  buoys,  which  all 
have  even  numbers,  must  be  left  on  the  starboard  or  right 
hand  in  passing  in  from  sea,  while  the  black  buoys,  alwa^'S 
with  odd  numbers,  must  be  left  on  the  port  hand. 

In  case  there  are  two  or  more  channels,  they  are  distin- 
guished by  a  difference  either  in  the  size  or  shape  of  the 
buoys. 

If  there  should  chance  to  be  an  isolated  rock,  wreck  or  any 
obstruction    which   has  a  channel    on    either  side  of  it,   it  is 
shown  b}^  a  buoy  painted  with  red 
and  black  horizontal  stripes. 

Buoys  with  white  and  black  per- 
pendicular stripes  lie  in  mid  channel, 
and  indicate  that  they  must  be 
passed  close  to  avoid  danger. 

Finally,  buoys  surmounted  by 
triangles,  cages,  and  so  forth,  are 
an  indication  that  there  is  a  turning- 
point  in  the  channel. 

There  are,  in  addition  to  the 
buoys  already  mentioned,  two  other 
kinds  which  are  also  fog  signals, 
namely,  the  whistling  buoy  and  the 
bell  buoy. 

Whistling  buoys  are  more  com- 
The  Whistling  Buoy.  pHcatcd  affairs.     They  are  only  seen 

at  harbor  entrances,  or  off  some  prominent  point.  What  one 
sees  in  coming  upon  a  whistling  buoy  is  an  object  that  looks 
much  like  a  big  red  pear,  afloat  upon  the  waves.  But  a  closer 
view  shows  that  the  pear  is  of  the  size  of  a  hogshead,  and  that 


227 


at  its  upper  end  is  fixed  a  whistle,  connected  with  the  pear 
bulb  by  a  tube.  Now  if  one  could  see  down  into  this  painted 
bulb,  the  big  stem  which  runs  through  it  and  down  into  the 
sea  for  about  thirty  feet  would  be  found  to  be  nearly  a  foot  in 
diameter. 


^4)jm^  ^y  ^'^  ■  ^  ^^^^mH'^- 


»^ 


-^^ 


This  long  pipe  is  open  at  the  bottom  and  closed  at  the  top. 
As  it  sits  in  the  water,  therefore,  there  is  a  water-line  inside 
the  pipe,  just  as  there  is  outside.  The  buoy  may  dance  up 
and  down  as  much  as  it  pleases,  but  the  big  column  of  water 
inside  the  pipe  does  not  dance,  but  remains  perfectly  still, 
because  there  are  no  waves  down  below%  where  it  enters,  to 
affect  it.  As  the  buoy  goes  up  on  a  wave,  pulling  the  pipe 
up  with  it,  it  leaves,  of  course,  a  longer  space  of  pipe  above 
the  water-column,  and  a  consequent  partial  vacuum.  When 
the  buoy  falls,  the  air  above  the  water  is  compressed  again. 

Perhaps  the  simplest  explanation  of  this  movement  is  to 

say  that   the  water-column  and    the   rising  and  falling   pipe 

round  it  are  piston-rod  and  cylinder,  and  their  motive  power 


228  BUOYS. 

is  the  restless  Atlantic  swell.  There  is  an  air-tube  connecting 
above  with  the  pipe,  and  when  the  rise  on  a  wave  makes  the 
vacuum  within,  the  outer  air  hastens  to  fill  it.  Then,  as  the 
pipe  goes  down,  making  the  air  press  down  on  the  resisting 
water,  an  outlet  is  provided  for  it  in  a  small  middle  tube, 
which  runs  up  from  the  pipe  directly  into  the  whistle  fastened 
atop,  high  and  dry  above  the  waves.  The  rushing  upward 
air  that  follows  every  plunge  of  the  buoy  is  like  the  breath 
from  the  lips  of  some  great  strong  sea-giant  blown  into  the 
whistle. 

The  blasts,  of  course,  vary  greatl}^  with  the  kind  of  sea. 
After  a  storm  that  creates  a  heavy  swell,  the  buoy  rises  and 
falls  very  slowly,  and  the  whistle  sounds  with  a  long  and 
mournful  wail.  But  in  a  brisk  breeze,  the  buoy  bobs  merrily 
up  and  down  on  the  quick,  choppy  waves,  and  the  whistle 
goes  with  a  cheery  "  Toot !  toot  !  toot !  "  not  at  all  suggestive 
of  shipwreck  and  disaster. 

They  are  not  pleasant  neighbors.  Their  sound  is  frequently 
heard  at  a  distance  of  ten  miles,  and  under  very  favorable 
circumstances  it  has  been  heard  fifteen  miles. 

The  bell  buoy  consists  of  the  bottom  section  of  a  buoy 
floating  in  the  water,  on  which  is  mounted  a  framework 
bearing  a  bell  which,  instead  of  the  ordinary  tongue  and 
clapper,  has  a  small  cannon-ball  supported  on  a  platform  just 
underneath  the  bell's  mouth.  This  ball  rolls  to  and  fro  with 
every  motion  of  the  sea. 

These  buoys  are  used  in  harbors  and  rivers  where  the 
water  is  smoother  than  in  the  roadsteads,  and  where  it  is  not 
necessary  that  their  sound  shall  be  heard  a  great  distance. 
Ordinary  buoys,  not  of  the  whistling  or  bell  variety,  are  made 
of  either  iron  or  wood.  Those  of  iron  are  hollow,  with 
air-tight  compartments,  and  are  of  three  shapes,  called 
respectively  nun,  can  and  ice  buoys. 

The  nun  buoy  is  almo.st  conical  in  shape  ;  the  can  buoy 
approaches  the  cylindrical  form,  and  the  ice  buoy  is  very  long 
and  narrow,  and  resembles  the  spar  buoy  in  form. 

The  wooden,  or  .spar  buoys,  are  sticks  ranging  in  length 


BUOYS.  229 

from  twelve  to  sixty  feet,  and  painted  according  to  the  uses  to 
which  they  are  to  be  put.  The  low^er  end  is  fitted  for  a 
mooring  chain. 

A  buoy  has  many  vicissitudes,  and  is  exposed  to  many 
dangers.  Passing  steamers  run  down  the  iron  buoys  and  rip 
them  open,  or  cut  off  big  pieces  of  spar  buoys  with  their  sharp 
propeller  blades. 

As  the  iron  buoys  are  made  in  compartments,  they  are 
seldom  sunk  by  such  collisions,  but  their  line  of  flotation  is 
often  so  lowered  that  they  have  to  be  replaced. 

Again,  despite  the  fact  that  the  United  States  laws  punish 
by  a  fine  of  one  thousand  dollars  any  one  who  is  convicted  of 
unlawfully  injuring  any  work  for  the  improvement  of  naviga- 
tion,—  and  this  in  addition  to  other  penalties  provided  for  by 
the  different  states,  —  the  very  people  for  whose  benefit  these 
buoys  are  laid  often  unlawfully  make  fast  their  vessels  to 
them,  and  drag  them  out  of  position. 

Again,  the  ice,  floating  down  in  masses,  parts  the  mooring 
chain,  or  tears  the  mooring  anchor  from  its  hold  and  carries 
the  buoy  far  out  to  sea,  to  break  upon  the  horizon  of  some 
astonished  mariner  there. 

There  is  now,  or  was  until  recently,  a  buoy  anchored  off 
the  coast  of  Ireland  which  made  the  journey  there  from  New 
York  harbor  in  six  weeks.  When  it  was  picked  up  off  the 
Irish  coast,  the  Irish  Lighthouse  Establishment  reported  the 
fact  to  our  Lighthouse  Board.  Then  it  was  presented  to  the 
Irish  Board,  who  thereupon  added  their  characteristic  marks 
to  those  already  upon  it,  and  moored  it  near  the  spot  where  it 
was  found.  Few  persons  realize  the  enormous  extent  of  our 
coast-line  along  which  lighthouses  and  buoys  have  to  be 
placed  for  the  benefit  of  commerce.  Under  the  head  of  the 
"General  Seacoast  of  the  United  States"  there  are,  on  the 
Atlantic  Ocean,  more  than  two  thousand  statute  miles ;  on  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico  more  than  eighteen  hundred,  and  on  the 
Pacific  Ocean  an  almost  similar  extent ;  w^hile  Alaska  has 
nearly  forty-eight  hundred  miles  of  seacoast. 

Including   the    islands,  bays,   rivers,  etc.,  to  the  head  of 


230 


BUOYS, 


tide-water,  there  are  on  the  coasts  of  the  Atlantic  Ocean  nearly 
thirty-seven  thousand  statute  miles  ;  on  the  Gulf  of  Mexico 
nineteen  thousand  ;  on  the  Pacific  Ocean  nine  thousand,  and 
in  Alaska  twenty-seven  thousand. 

Add  to  this  three  thousand  miles  of  lake  coast  and  five 
thousand  miles  of  navigable  rivers,  and  we  have  a  grand  total 
of  nearly  one  hundred  and  ten  thousand  miles  of  coast  which 
has  to  be  looked  out  for,  and  guarded  in  some  degree. 

W.  F.  Low. 


The    Pilot -Boat. 

Most  people  who  have  traversed  Massachusetts  Ba}-  in 
summer  recognize  as  pilot-boats  the  jaunt}'  craft  distinguished 
by  a  black  number  painted  in  bold  relief  against  their  sails  ; 
but  few  have  a  correct  idea  of  the  duties  of  these  boats,  or  how 
they  are  performed. 

Boston  Harbor,  a  portion  of  Massachusetts  Bay,  has,  strictly 
speaking,  a  mouth  about  three  and  three-fourths  miles  in 
width,  extending  from  Deer  Island  to  Point  Allerton.  But 
the  true  approaches  to  this  harbor  are  five  channels,  one  of 
which,  the  main  ship  channel,  is  used  by  almost  all  incoming 
vessels.  It  has  its  least  width  at  a  point  called  the  Narrows, 
situated  not  far  from  the  mouth,  and  marked  by  a  lighthouse. 

Though  this  passage  is  well  marked  with  lights  by  night 
and  buoys  by  day,  the  captain  of  a  vessel  with  a  precious 
cargo  of  freight  and  passengers  is  seldom  willing  to  take  the 
chances  of  running  his  craft  upon  some  hidden  ledge  or  bar. 
He  generally  prefers  that  a  regularly  licensed  pilot  shall  take 
charge,  and  bring  his  vessel  safely  into  port. 

The  United  Colonies  early  recognized  the  need  for  pilots, 
and  passed  stringent  laws  for  their  support  and  regulations 
for  their  guidance.  The  earliest  pilots  put  out  in  small 
rowboats  from  Pollock's  and  Brewster's  Islands,  boarding  the 
small  vessels  of  early  days  with  comparative  ease  and  safety  ; 
but  as  steam  supplanted  sail,  the  rowboat  developed  into  the 
swift  and  stanch  schooners  of  to-day,  which  often  go  two 
hundred  or  three  hundred  miles  out,  and  even  to  Halifax. 

Before  the  pilot  of  the  present  day  can  be  entrusted  with 
his  warrant  to  perform  the  duties  incumbent  upon  him,  he 
must  serv^e  a  long  period  in  the  pilot-boats  as  a  sailor,  or 
"boat-keeper."  After  he  has  served  this  apprenticeship  for 
a  sufficient  term,  he  applies  for  a  commission. 

If  his  employers,  the  pilots,  recommend  him,  and  he  can 


232 


THE    PILOT-BOAT. 


pass  an  examination  before  the  Pilot  Commissioners  appointed 
by  the  government,  a  warrant  is  given  to  him  which  entitles 
him  to  take  into  port  vessels  which  draw  a  limited  number  of 
feet  aft.  L,ater,  if  he  has  performed  his  duties  satisfactorily, 
he  receives  his  full  commission  to  act  as  pilot  upon  vessels  of 
au}^  size. 

The  pilot  is  paid  b}-  the  owners  of  the  vessel  at  a  fixed  rate 
of  so  much  a  foot  for  every  foot  the  vessel  sinks  into  the  water 


Outward    Bound. 


at  the  stern.  He  does  not  pocket  the  amount,  but  puts  it  into 
the  common  fund  of  the  earnings  of  all  the  pilots  attached  to 
the  boat  to  which  he  belongs.  This  fund  is  used,  first,  to  pay 
the  expenses  of  running  the  boat,  and  all  that  remains  is 
divided  equally.  The  boat  may  be  owned  by  the  pilots  or  by 
outside  parties. 

Vessels  take  a  pilot  out  as  well  as  in,  usually  from  the 
same  boat  from  which  the  inward  pilot  was  taken.     To  take 


THE    PILOT-BOAT. 


233 


the  outgoing  pilot  off  the  vessel,  a  boat  is  always  on  duty  at 
what  is  called  the  Inner  or  Hull  Station,  which  is  within 
certain  defined  lines  outside  of  Boston  and  inside  of  Minot's 
Ivight. 

The  boats  perform  this  duty  in  regular  order,  according  to 
their  numbers,  and  remain  on  duty  here  one  week  at  a  time, 
from  Monday  noon  until  Monday  noon. 

The  boat  on  station  flies  a  flag  at  the  masthead  by  day, 
and  at  night  carries  a  white  light  and  no  side  lights.  The 
station  boat  cannot  board  vessels  outside  of  station  limits,  and 
is  obliged  to  take  pilots  out  of  all  outgoing  vessels. 

The  number  so  conspicuously  displaj'ed  on  a  pilot-boat's 
mainsail  is  worn  in  obedience  to  law.  Its  purpose  is  to  inform 
captains  that  the  boat  is  a  licensed  pilot-boat. 

Besides  the  Hull  station,  there  is  another  at  Cape  Cod,  to 
which  each  boat  goes  from  the  Hull  station  after  coming  to 
the  city  to  refit. 

When  not  upon  station  duty  the  boats  are  free  to  go  where 
they  will,  and  the  pilots  show  rare  judgment  in  selecting  a 
spot  where  ocean  travellers  are  likely  to  come  into  view.  Their 
sight  is  trained  to  wonderful  keenness. 

Coastwise  vessels,  both  sail  and  steam,  are  not  required  to 
take  a  pilot,  but  all  vessels  from  foreign  parts  must  pay 
pilotage  dues,  whether  they  take  on  a  pilot  or  not.  Incoming 
steamships  are  watched  for  eagerly  in  all  weathers,  and  often 
boarded  far  out  at  sea.  The  first  sign  of  smoke  is  noted,  and 
while  the  landsman  is  trying  to  steadj^  the  glass  so  that  it  will 
not  hit  the  zenith  or  the  sea,  as  the  boat  jumps,  the  pilot  is 
often  telling  the  name  of  the  coming  ship.  Then  the  horizon 
is  swept  for  rival  pilot-boats.  Every  tiny  speck  of  white  is 
scanned  and  noted,  for  although  the  pilots  of  each  boat  act  in 
accord,  the  boats  compete  with  one  another,  and  have  many 
exciting  races  for  ships. 

The  crew  of  a  pilot-boat,  when  she  leaves  Boston  on  a 
cruise,  consists  of  her  pilots,  four  boat-keepers  and  a  steward. 
The  pilots  occupy  the  cabin,  and  the  one  whom  the  rotation 
has   designated  to  be  the  first   one   to    board    a   ship    takes 


The    Pilot -Boat. 


THE    PILOT-BOAT.  235 

command.  As  soon  as  the  boat  passes  Boston  Light  he  sets  a 
constant  watch,  which  is  kept  day  and  night.  The  other 
pilots  read,  play  cards  and  sleep  ;  but  this  one  whose  turn  it 
is  to  go  may  be  required  on  deck  day  and  night. 

The  four  boat-keepers  stand  regular  watches  and  perform 
the  duties  of  a  sailor,  handing,  reefing  and  steering. 

The  boat  is  sailed  to  what  is  thought  to  be  the  spot  where 
an  incoming  steamer  is  most  likely  to  be  met ;  and  if  no  other 
boat  is  in  sight,  she  is  hove  to  —  that  is,  kept  swinging  as  on 
a  pivot,  her  head  sails  aback,  and  the  rudder  turned  against 
them.  If  nothing  comes  in  sight  another  place  is  sought ;  and 
the  vigil  is  not  relaxed  by  day  or  night.  Meanwhile,  the 
watch  is  busy  at  the  many  bits  of  work  always  needed. 

Perhaps  after  a  long,  monotonous  wait  the  cry  is  raised, 
"Smoke  to  east'ard  !  "  Then  all  is  excitement.  Pilots  and 
crew  are  alike  astir.  The  flag  is  set,  and  if  another  boat  is 
near,  a  race  as  exciting  to  its  participants  as  an  international 
regatta  ensues  —  a  race  for  money  and  for  home. 

Perhaps  the  pilot  in  charge  exclaims  in  a  disappointed 
tone,  "  Haul  down  your  flag  !  "  What  does  it  mean  ?  Simpl}' 
that  he  has  discovered  a  flag  aft  on  the  steamer,  and  knows 
that  she  has  been  boarded  by  a  pilot.  But  if  this  does  not 
occur,  and  his  boat  wins  the  race,  he  keeps  on  until  close  to 
the  great  steamer.  Then  the  command  is  given,  "Get  your 
canoe  ready  !  "  On  each  side  of  the  pilot-boat's  fore  hatch  is 
kept  a  rowboat,  which  is  called  in  Boston  a  "canoe,"  and  in 
New  York  a  "yawl." 

The  lee  canoe  is  righted  and  shoved  over  the  low  rail. 
Two  boat-keepers  and  the  pilot  get  in  ;  and  as  the  pilot-boat, 
which  is  now  in  charge  of  the  second  man  to  go  out,  passes 
the  steamer,  the  canoe  is  let  go  and  speeds  away. 

The  pilot  climbs  up  the  steamer's  towering  side  by  a 
spider-like  ladder,  the  canoe  drops  astern,  and  the  pilot-boat 
is  rounded  to  and  picks  it  up. 

The  process  of  seeking  vessels  and  putting  pilots  aboard 
them  is  repeated  until  every  pilot  has  gone.  When  the  last 
pilot  has  departed,  the  boat  is  perhaps  one  hundred  and  fifty 


236  the:  pilot-boat. 

miles  at  sea,  but  at  all  times  its  position,  the  distance  to 
Boston  lyight  and  its  direction  are  known.  The  position  is 
kept  by  ' '  dead  reckoning  ' '  when  the  weather  prevents  daily 
observations  from  being  made. 

When  the  last  pilot  is  out,  the  first  boat-keeper  takes 
command,  and  brings  the  boat  back  to  Boston  as  speedily  as 
he  may,  to  take  its  own  pilots  on  board  again  and  begin 
another  cruise. 

As  the  first  boat-keeper  has  command  in  all  weathers,  and 
as  his  boat  draws  from  twelve  to  fifteen  feet,  he  soon  learns  to 
be  both  a  good  sailor  and  an  experienced  pilot.  When  a  pilot 
boards  a  ship  the  master  of  the  vessel  yields  all  responsibility 
to  him,  and  follows  his  instructions. 

This  is  the  pilot's  life.  Like  all  others,  it  has  its  bright 
and  dark  side.  He  is  away  upon  the  ocean,  he  enjo^'S  re- 
freshing breezes  in  hot  weather,  and  on  the  whole  lives  a 
healthful  life,  which,  in  the  summer,  may  be  delightful. 

But  he  is  exposed  to  many  dangers,  to  fatigue,  to  cold  and 
terrible  winter  storms.  He  has  long  and  tedious  waits  both 
on  shore  and  at  sea,  and  many  disappointments.  In  thick 
weather  he  is  in  the  track  of  steamers,  and  in  danger  of  being 
run  down  ;  in  winter  his  boat  is  covered  with  ice,  and  he  has 
to  trust  himself  to  a  cockle-shell,  and  perform  perhaps  an 
extremely  dangerous  task  in  boarding  a  vessel. 

Some  of  the  pilot-boats  have  been  dismasted.  All  have 
lost  booms  and  split  sails.  Sometimes  they  are  crippled,  and 
drift  for  days  covered  with  ice,  until  they  resemble  small 
icebergs  ;  but  they  are  stanch  boats,  and  seldom  go  down. 

In  winter,  when  the  howling  northwest  gale  or  driving 
snow-.storm  roars  in  our  ears,  and  we  incline  to  grumble  at 
our  lot,  it  may  be  well  to  remember  that  out  upon  the  angry 
ocean  many  a  little  pilot-boat  may  be  tossing  and  plunging, 
braving  all  danger  in  the  duty  of  aiding  fellow-mariners  to 
avoid  the  perils  of  our  coasts. 

W.  EusTis  Barker. 


An    Ocean    Guide -Post. 

The  island  of  Nantucket,  twenty-five  miles  south  of  the 
southeastern  corner  of  Cape  Cod,  is  surrounded  by  shoals,  the 
most  extensive  and  among  the  most  dangerous  along  the 
Atlantic  coast  of  the  United  States.  These  shoals  extend 
from  the  east  and  south  sides  of  the  island  for  a  distance 
varying  from  ten  to  twenty  miles.  At  some  places  they  rise 
almost  to  the  surface  of  the  sea,  but  in  most  instances  they 
are  far  enough  under  water  to  allow  a  vessel  of  ordinary  size 
to  run  some  little  distance  upon  them  before  striking. 

Formerly  vessels  were  pounded  to  pieces  on  these  shoals 
ever}^  year.  Now  vessels  are  seldom  wrecked  there,  partly 
for  the  reason  that  light-ships  have  been  stationed  at  the  most 
dangerous  points  in  the  ordinary  tracks  of  shipping,  and 
partly  because  the  shoals  are  more  accurately  laid  down  on 
the  later  charts. 

The  most  southeasterly  of  these  shoals  lies  in  the  track  of 
the  great  transatlantic  steamers  plying  between  New  York 
and  the  ports  of  Great  Britain,  Germany  and  France.  Part  of 
this  group  is  known  as  Davis's  New  South  Shoals.  Just  at 
the  outer  edge  of  them  —  twenty-four  miles  from  Siasconset, 
the  nearest  point  of  Nantucket,  and  something  over  fifty  miles 
in  a  straight  line  from  the  mainland  —  is  anchored  the  South 
Shoal  light-ship. 

This  ship  heads  for  no  port,  makes  no  harbor,  nor  seeks 
the  protection  of  a  lee  shore,  no  matter  how  hard  the  storm, 
how  fierce  the  gale.  It  is  perhaps  the  loneliest  habitation  in 
the  world,  and  the  crew  are  more  isolated  than  any  body  of 
men  on  all  the  wide  ocean. 

Year  after  year  they  are  tossed  and  beaten  by  immense 
ocean  waves,  a  living  guide-post  on  the  trackless  sea.  All 
day  and  all  night,  day  after  day,  year  after  year,  this  little 
body  of  nine  hardy  seamen  keep  watch,  lest  some  ship  come 


238 


AN   OCEAN   GUIDE-POST. 


too  near  them  and  meet  its  doom.  Often  the^^  are  forced  to 
warn  others  to  keep  away,  when  their  own  hearts  are  yearning 
for  news  of  the  world  and  their  homes. 

During  the  summer  the  government  lighthouse  tender 
visits  the  ship  occasionally  to  carry  supplies.  When  she 
steams  into  the  harbor  of  Nantucket  and  announces  that  she 


Signalling    the    Liyht    bhip 

is  going  to  the  vSouth  Shoal,  the  news  spreads  rapidly  over  the 
little  town.  Many  letters  and  greetings  are  hurried  to  the 
steamer  that  will  carry  them  to  the  anxious  husbands  and 
fathers  on  the  light-ship.  At  that  season  the  weather  is 
nearly  always  calm,  and  passing  vessels  are  often  spoken  by 
the  crew  of  the  light-.ship,  who  sometimes  send  out  a  boat 
with  letters  for  their  friends  ashore. 

These  letters  may  be  carried  from  almost  within  sight  of 


AN    OCEAN    GUIDE-POST.  239 

their  destination  to  some  port  hundreds  of  miles  away,  and 
thence  returned  by  the  regular  mail  to  Nantucket.  In  some 
instances  they  have  been  carried  as  far  as  Baltimore. 

Another  remarkable  fact  is  that  none  but  foreigners  ever 
speak  the  light-ship.  American  vessels  pass  by  unheeding. 
Perhaps  the  captain  never  reflects  that  some  cheering  attention 
is  fairly  due  to  the  men  who  may  at  some  time  save  his  vessel 
from  destruction  and  himself  from  a  watery  grave. 

Foreign  ships  if  hailed  always  lie  to,  and  give  what  news 
they  can  to  the  crew.  About  the  first  of  December  the  last 
trip  for  the  winter  is  made  by  the  tender.  Then  begins  for 
the  light-ship's  crew  a  dreary,  long  period,  varied  only  by  the 
sea  washing  over  the  ship  more  to-day  than  yesterday,  or  the 
compass  shifting  more  speedih^  as  the  ship  heaves  and  tugs  at 
the  great  chain  cable,  and  circles  around  her  monstrous 
anchor  of  three  and  a  half  tons'  weight. 

When  the  long  winter,  with  its  snow  and  ice  and  storm, 
passes  and  the  sun  of  spring  once  more  warms  the  air,  the 
tender  again  starts  out  to  visit  the  vessel,  and  carry  to  the 
crew  the  first  news  which  they  have  had  from  the  rest  of  the 
world  for  months. 

The  South  Shoal  light-ship  is  not  a  large  vessel.  She  is 
only  one  hundred  and  five  feet  long  over  all,  and  twenty-four 
feet  across  the  widest  part  amidships.  Her  depth  is  but 
twelve  feet.  The  distance  between  decks,  which  is  the  living 
space  for  the  crew,  is  much  less. 

She  is  rigged  with  two  short  masts.  Near  the  top  of  each 
is  a  circular  beacon  to  mark  her  as  a  light-ship  by  day  ;  at 
night  a  large  octagonal  lantern  is  hoisted  up  on  each  mast. 

These  lanterns  hold  eight  powerful  lamps  each,  with 
reflectors  so  placed  that  they  completely  encircle  the  mast, 
which  passes  through  the  centre  of  the  lantern.  So  strong  is 
this  light  that  it  can  be  seen  eleven  miles  away  in  clear 
weather.  The  duty  of  the  crew  is  to  clean,  trim  and  fill  these 
lamps  every  day,  and  to  keep  them  burning  at  night. 

From  a  little  house  on  deck  called  the  lantern-house  those 
of  the  crew  who  are  on  duty  watch  the  lamps  all  night.     In 


240  AN    OCEAN    GUIDE-POST. 

the  storms  of  winter  they  are  obliged  to  keep  brushing  the 
snow  from  the  glass  fronts  of  the  lanterns,  which  in  very  cold 
weather  must  be  lowered  at  short  intervals  that  the  ice  may  be 
broken  off  in  order  that  the  lights  may  not  become  obscured 
or  the  lanterns  frozen  to  the  mast. 

The  hull  of  the  light-ship  is  built  double  for  extra 
strength,  and  is  constructed  on  principles  best  calculated  to 
resist  the  eternal  beating  of  the  waves.  A  ship  which  sails 
the  sea  gives  way  in  some  degree  to  the  force  of  the  swell,  as 
it  rises  and  falls  with  the  motion  of  the  water ;  but  the 
anchored  light-ship  must  meet  unyieldingly  the  pressure  of 
every  wave.  As  each  roller  strikes  and  the  anchor  chain 
tightens  with  a  jerk,  the  shock  is  terrible.  The  pitching  is  so 
great  all  the  time  that  the  bunks  in  which  the  men  sleep  are 
deep  canvas  bags  slung  between  two  high  wooden  s-ides,  in 
order  that  the  sleeper  shall  not  be  thrown  out. 

Everything  has  to  be  fastened  securely  in  its  place. 
Cooking  utensils  are  chained  on  the  stove.  Plates  and  dishes 
are  confined  to  the  table  by  pegs, 
which  are  driven  around  them,  and 
even  the  men's  shoes,  when  taken 
off  at  night,  must  be  tied  to  some- 
thing or  they  will  be  hurled  all  over 
the  cabin. 

Sometimes   the    vessel    rolls    so 
much  that  the  boats,  which  hang  on  davits   over   the   sides 
higher  than  a  man's  head    above  the  deck,  are  submerged, 
and  come  up  full  of  water. 

There  are  nine  men  in  the  crew,  including  the  captain, 
mate  and  cook.  The  captain  and  mate  are  known  as  the 
keeper  and  assistant  keeper. 

In  summer,  when  half  the  crew  by  turns  come  ashore  for  a 
rest,  a  tenth  man  is  added,  so  that  there  are  always  four  men 
and  one  officer  aboard.  This  force  is  not  enough  to  handle  the 
ship  in  times  of  danger.  Five  men  can  barely  handle  the 
great  anchor  chain,  which  is  a  little  over  six  hundred  feet 
long,  each  link  weighing  twenty-five  pounds. 


AN    OCEAN    GUIDE-POST. 


241 


The  cheerless  life  of  these  stationary  mariners  is  seldom 
given  a  thought  by  those  who  are  returning  from  abroad  in 
the  great  ocean  palaces  ;  and  yet  perhaps  they  owe  their  ver}^ 
lives  to  these  men  at  the  South  Shoal.  Often  in  the  darkness 
of  a  stormy  night  a  big  steamer,  with  hundreds  of  passengers 
aboard,  plows  her  way  through  the  trackless  deep  when  all 


':^:^?>^^. 


In    Storm,    and    Winter. 

the  fury  of  the  ocean  seems  directed  toward  her  destruction, 
and  a  single  touch  upon  these  hidden  shoals  would  seal  the 
fate  of  every  soul  she  carries. 

But  as  she  approaches  the  danger  two  twinkling  lights 
warn  her  off,  and  she  is  guided  safeh'  past.  Not  always, 
however,  do  ships  pass  the  shoals  in  safety.  Sometimes  the 
fog  is  so  thick  that  the  lights  cannot  be  seen  nor  the  fog  bell 
heard.  At  other  times,  for  one  reason  or  another,  a  vessel 
cannot  be  controlled. 

Often  the  only  tidings  of  the  disaster  which  the  world 
receives    are   pieces   of   wreckage    seen    afterward    by   other 


242  AN    OCEAN    GUIDE-POST. 

vessels,  or  picked  up  at  Nantucket.  Others,  though  wrecked, 
are  more  fortunate.  Many  rescues  have  been  made  by  the 
light-ship  men  from  vessels  which  went  down  within  their 
view. 

Sometimes  the  storms  are  so  severe  that  even  the  light-ship 
parts  her  cable  of  two-inch  iron,  and  drifts  away.  This  is  the 
time  of  the  crew's  greatest  danger.  Such  sail  as  circum- 
stances will  permit  must  be  set,  and  the  strictest  watch  kept 
until  some  haven  is  reached.  The  vessel  is  not  built  for 
sailing,  and  can  do  little  better  than  run  before  the  wind,  in 
the  effort  to  reach  some  port. 

Eight  times  within  the  twenty  years  during  which  the 
present  captain  has  been  aboard,  she  has  been  adrift.  Fortu- 
nately the  gale  was  every  time  from  such  a  direction  that  the 
crew  were  able  to  run  for  Martha's  Vineyard,  and  get  under 
the  protection  of  Gay  Head.  When  the  storm  is  over  the 
tender  takes  her  back  to  the  great  can  buoy  which  marks  her 
station. 

Should  the  light-ship  break  away  under  the  force  of  a  wind 
which  will  drive  her  upon  the  shoals,  the  wreckage  on 
Nantucket's  shore  will  tell  the  news  that  she  has  gone  down 
with  all  her  men,  how  or  when,  no  living  soul  would  ever 
know. 

For  a  quarter  of  a  century  the  crew  of  the  South  Shoal 
light-ship  have  employed  their  leisure  moments  in  making  a 
peculiar  kind  of  basket,  known  to  those  who  visit  Nantucket 
as  light-ship  baskets.  Some  are  made  on  shore  by  men  who 
have  serv^ed  aboard  the  ship,  but  these  are  few  compared  with 
those  made  on  the  ship. 

The  baskets  originated  many  years  ago  when  Nantucket 
was  full  of  busy  ropewalks.  These  establishments  used  great 
quantities  of  manilla,  which  came  in  bundles  tied  with  strips 
of  rattan.  Some  one  began  to  use  the  strips  to  make  baskets 
in  imitation  of  those  which  returning  whalers  often  brought 
from  .some  of  the  islands  of  the  Pacific  Ocean. 

They  were  probably  the  first  rattan  baskets  ever  made  in 
America,  and  being,  perhaps,  the  only  kind  made  at  Nantucket, 


AN    OCEAN    GUIDE-POST. 


243 


were  naturally  the  kind  worked  at  by  the  light-ship  men  when 
they  began  to  divert  themselves  with  basket-making.  At  first 
but  one  or  two  of  the  crew  worked  at  them,  and  their  products 
were  very  rough  when  compared  with  the  neat  baskets  made 
to-day.  Now  every  man  aboard  is  an  expert  basket-maker, 
and  about  five  hundred  are  sold  by  the  stores  in  Nantucket 
each  summer  for  the  crew. 

Although  the  proximity  of  the  Gulf  Stream  equalizes  the 
temperature  so  that  it  is  several  degrees  cooler  in  summer  and 

warmer    in   winter    at    the 
^  South  Shoal    than  at  Nan- 

tucket town,  on  the  north 
side  of  the  island,  there  are 
times  when  nothing  is  visible 
around  the  vessel  but  a 
continuous  field  of  drifting 
ice.  On  this  ice  multitudes 
of  seals  are  sometimes  seen, 
but  they  perceive  danger 
quickly  and  disappear  before 
coming  too  near  the  crew. 

A  few  winters  ago,  no 
water  was  seen  for  more 
than  a  month  —  nothing  but 
a  solid  pack  of  great  white 
cakes  of  ice,  which  rose  and 
fell  with  the  swell  of  the  ocean,  as  they  slowl)^  drifted  past, 
day  after  day.  As  if  to  compensate  for  such  utter  loneliness, 
there  are  occasional  days  when  a  mirage  forms,  and  the  crew 
can  see  the  shores  of  Nantucket  as  plainly  as  if  they  were  only 
a  few  miles  away.  Sometimes  they  can  make  out  clearl}'  the 
little  village  of  Siasconset,  the  headlands  and  gullies,  and 
even  the  dories  on  the  beach.  There  is  great  joy  among  the 
crew  when  this  occurs,  for  it  is  almost  like  good  news  from 
home. 

Harry  Platt. 


Making    Baskets. 


An   Ocean   Observatory. 

There  is  no  sight  more  common  in  New  York  harbor, 
unless  it  is  the  ordinary  passage  of  a  Brooklyn  or  Jersey 
ferryboat,  than  that  of  puffing  tugs  or  large-decked  excursion 
steamers,  carrying  noisy  and  expectant  crowds  to  meet  an 
incoming  ocean  steamer.  Every  day,  dinners  of  welcome  are 
prepared,  or  carriages  ordered  at  the  dock,  in  readiness  for 
the  arrival  of  friends  or  distinguished  guests  from  across  the 
Atlantic. 

How  is  the  near  approach  of  the  steamer  made  known  to 
those  ashore  ?  How  is  it  that  New  York  is  aware,  seven  hours 
before  she  gets  in,  of  the  coming  of  an  Atlantic  liner,  no  matter 
whether  her  passage  has  been  a  quick  one  or  a  slow  one  ?  One 
would  think  that  owing  to  the  uncertainties  of  tide  and  winds, 
the  arrival  of  the  vessel  could  not  be  computed  within  two  or 
three  days  ;  and  yet  persons  as  far  distant  from  New  York  as 
Philadelphia  or  Albany  are  apprised  of  the  near  approach  of  a 
certain  ocean  steamer,  and  may  arrive  in  season  to  welcome 
incoming  friends. 

The  matter  is  easily  explained.  The  first  strip  of  American 
coast  sighted  by  the  majority  of  incoming  steamers  is  Fire 
Island,  which  is  about  forty  miles  from  New  York  City.  It  is 
not,  in  spite  of  its  name,  an  island  ;  but  it  is  the  end  of  a  long 
and  narrow  strip  of  land  which  lies  between  the  ocean  and  the 
great  south  bay,  on  the  southern  coast  of  Long  Island.  The 
beauty  of  its  scenery  and  the  attractions  of  the  shore  have 
made  Fire  Island  a  popular  seaside  resort. 

For  nearly  ten  years  it  has  served  as  a  place  for  marine 
observations.  From  the  top  of  the  large  Surf  Hotel  a  mag- 
nificent and  far-reaching  view  of  the  ocean  is  obtained. 

Such  good  results  were  obtained  from  this  point  of  vantage, 
in  the  sighting  of  distant  vessels,  that  a  more  extensive  and 
systematic   use  of   the    ground  was   suggested.      There  was 


AN    OCEAN    OBSERVATORY.  245 

ultimately  erected  near  the  beach,  by  the  Western  Union 
Telegraph  Company,  a  high  wooden  tower,  from  whose  top 
observations  can  be  made  to  a  distance  of  more  than  twenty- 
five  miles  from  shore.  The  structure  was  suitably  arranged 
as  a  dwelling-place  for  the  observ^er,  and  instruments  and  the 
latest  modern  facilities  for  watching  and  reporting  of  vessels 
were  brought  into  use.  Telegraphic  and  telephonic  com- 
munication was  also  employed. 

The  observatory  is  a  wooden  building  about  forty  feet 
high.  It  lies  back  from  the  beach  about  two  hundred  feet, 
and  all  about  it  is  a  waste  of  sand.  The  tower  is  pyramidal, 
and  has  a  row  of  windows  on  each  face.  The  lower  floors  are 
used  for  dwelling  purposes,  while  the  topmost  room  serves  as 
the  observatory  proper. 

Windows  open  on  all  four  sides  of  this  small  room,  and 
lookout  apertures  face  oceanward.  A  telegraph  instrument 
stands  in  this  apartment,  and  is  connected  by  wire  direct  with 
the  principal  office  of  the  Telegraph  Company  in  New  York 
City. 

Upon  the  walls  of  the  room  are  pictures  of  all  the  best 
known  ocean  steamers.  These  pictures,  it  might  be  supposed, 
would  assist  the  observ^er  in  making  out  the  vessels  which 
come  in  sight.  It  is  a  remarkable  fact,  however,  that  the 
observ-er  in  charge  has  never  been  on  board  any  of  these 
steamers,  and  can  distinguish  them  only  at  long  range. 

From  his  knowledge  of  a  steamer's  average  rate  of  speed 
the  watcher  approximates  her  hour  of  arrival,  and  thus  fixes 
the  time  when  he  should  be  on  the  lookout.  He  has  special 
means  of  distinguishing  them  at  night.  Upon  arriving  opposite 
Fire  Island,  each  steamer  sends  up  a  rocket  as  a  signal.  Each 
line  of  steamers  has  its  peculiar  system  of  signalling.  The 
Cunard  steamers,  for  instance,  burn  two  Roman  candles, 
showing  six  blue  balls.  The  Inman  line  signals  with  two  blue 
and  red  lights,  followed  by  a  rocket  showing  blue  and  red  stars. 

Of  course  these  signals  indicate  only  to  what  line  the 
steamer  belongs.  To  distinguish  a  particular  vessel,  it  is 
necessary  to  observe  carefully  the  side  and  stern  light.     As 


246 


AN    OCEAN    OBSERVATORY, 


soon  as  the  steamer  comes  in  sight,  the  observer  must  fix  his 

gaze  steadily  on  the  lights  until  the  signals  are  sent  up  ;  and 

he  must  know  these  verj^  well. 

The  work  of  observing  passing  steamers,  and  telegraphing 

the  name  of  each  to  New  York,  may  seem  quite  easy  ;  but 

when  one  considers  the 
fact  that  the  majority  of 
the  vessels  are  from  fif- 
teen to  eighteen  miles 
from  shore,  and  that 
many  pass  by  at  night, 
and  during  fogs  and 
cloudy  weather,  the  skill 
and  training  necessary 
for    the    work    become 


more  appar- 
ent. Rocket- 
signalling  is,  of 
course,  effectu- 
al only  at  night. 
When  a  vessel 
happens  to  sail 
past  Fire  Island 
during  the  day, 
another  meth- 
od of  signalling 
is  employed. 
Combinations 

of  colored  flags  An    ocean    Observatory. 

are  hoisted  b}^ 

different  lines  of  steamships.  But,  as  color  is  distinguishable 
only  at  a  comparativel}^  short  distance,  this  method  fails  at 
times  ;   and  then  the  observ^er  must  fall  back  upon  his  trained 


AN   OCEAN   OBSERVATORY.  247 

sharpness  of  sight,  and  his  knowledge  of  the  peculiarities  of 
different  steamers.  Thus  the  general  outlines  of  the  vessel, 
the  position  of  its  smoke-stack,  the  number  and  positions  of 
its  life-boats,  the  shape  and  number  of  the  sails,  and  many 
other  individual  marks  are  depended  upon  for  a  correct 
determination  of  the  name  of  the  vessel. 

Upon  the  smoke-stack  of  the  steamer  "  Servda,"  for 
instance,  is  painted  a  square  white  mark,  while  on  a  certain 
other  vessel  of  the  Cunard  fleet,  the  corresponding  mark  is 
oblong.  Certain  vessels  are  recognized  by  their  peculiar 
fashion  of  carrying  their  sails. 

Sometimes  the  watcher  distinguishes  a  vessel  by  the  color 
of  the  smoke  arising  from  her  stack.  One  line  of  steamers 
burns  a  certain  kind  of  soft  coal,  the  smoke  from  which  is 
unlike  that  made  by  any  other  coal.  In  such  a  case,  the 
approach  of  the  steamer  is  known  before  any  portion  of  the 
vessel  itself  is  above  the  horizon.  Indeed,  the  sharp-eyed 
observer  often  astonishes  his  visitors  by  informing  them  that 
he  has  already  seen  and  telegraphed  to  New  York  the  near 
arrival  of  the  vessel,  when  no  trace  of  the  approach  of  the 
steamer  has  been  perceived  by  them. 

Each  line  of  steamers  has  its  own  course.  Thus  the  angle 
of  observation  used  by  the  obser^^er,  in  watching  from  the 
port-hole  of  the  tower,  often  tells  him  to  which  line  an  incoming 
steamer  belongs.  From  one  port-hole  in  the  lookout  room 
the  observer  catches  his  first  sight  of  a  steamer  of  the  Guion 
line  ;  from  another,  a  vessel  of  the  White  Star  line,  and  so  on. 

Ivife  at  Fire  Island  during  the  long  winter  months  is 
exceedingly  lonely.  Communication  with  Bay  Shore,  about 
ten  miles  distant,  the  nearest  point  on  the  main  land,  is  had 
only  a  few  times  a  week.  The  keeper  of  the  neighboring 
lighthouse,  with  his  family,  and  the  life-saving  crew,  are  the 
only  neighbors  the  observ^er  has. 

This  isolation  is  compensated  for  by  an  abundance  of 
company  during  the  summer  months,  when  the  observ^atory  is 
one  of  the  chief  attractions  at  Fire  Island.  The  visitors  at  the 
hotel  flock  to  this  snug  lookout  retreat,  and  avail  themselves 


248 


AN    OCEAN    OBSERVATORY 


of  the  opportunity  to  look  far  out  to  sea.  When  the  obsen^er 
takes  a  leave  of  absence,  which  is  very  seldom,  the  observatory 
is  closed.  There  is  no  one  else  who  possesses  the  special 
training  necessary  to  make  the  reports  accurately.  Serious 
complications  might  result  from  the  wrong  reporting  of  a  vessel. 
The  present  observer  has  made  but  one  error,  and  that  was 
when  a  new  steamer  on  a  German  line  had  been  despatched 
to  take  the  place  of  another,  without  the  watcher's  knowledge. 
He  reported  the  new  vessel  under  the  name  of  the  old  one. 

The  desire  of  the  captains  of  the  fast  lines  to  make  as  quick 
a  passage  as  possible  leads  them  to  sail  the  straightest  course 
for  New  York.  This  takes  them  farther  away  from  Fire 
Island,  and  increases  the  difficulty  of  observing  them. 

From  the  Fire  Island  tower  came  the  first  report  of  the 
"Oregon"  disaster,  which  occurred  in  March,  1886.  The 
ill-fated  vessel  was  observed  about  nineteen  miles  from  shore, 
behaving  strangely.  The  observer,  supposing  that  something 
was  wrong,  telegraphed  his  conjectures  to  New  York  at  six 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  -  Soon  thereafter  the  steamship 
"  Fulda  "  signalled  him,  by  means  of  flags,  this  message: 
"Steamer  'Oregon'  sunk.  Passengers  all  on  board  the 
'Fulda.'  All  well."  This  was  the  first  definite  information 
to  reach  New  York. 

H.  F.  Gunnison. 


Anchor    Line    Steamship    "City    of    Ronne. 


The  U.  S.  Life-Saving  Service. 

Ever  since  the  times  of  antiquity,  more  or  less  attention 
has  been  given  to  the  saving  of  life  from  the  perils  of  the  sea. 
The  Chinese,  centuries  ago,  formed  the  first  humane  society 
for  this  purpose,  and  to-day  these  institutions  can  be  found 
throughout  the  whole  of  civilized  Europe. 

In  our  own  country  as  early  as  1785  steps  for  the  preser- 
vation of  the  shipwrecked  were  taken  by  a  number  of  benevolent 
gentlemen  in  Boston,  who  formed  the  Massachusetts  Humane 
Society,  and  built  huts  of  refuge  and  several  stations  equipped 
with  life-boats  on  the  desolate  portions  of  the  coast  of  that 
State. 

The  development  of  the  United  States  lyife-Saving  Service 
covers  about  forty  years.  Beginning  in  1848,  the  government 
erected  some  twenty  or  more  houses,  furnished  with  appliances 
for  rescuing  life,  on  the  exposed  shores  of  New  Jersey  and 
Rhode  Island,  though  it  was  not  until  1871  that  the  present 
elaborate  system  of  relief,  which  has  grown  to  be  the  most 
perfect  of  its  kind  in  the  world,  was  introduced. 

There  are  now  upon  the  ocean  and  lake  coasts  of  the 
United  States  about  two  hundred  and  forty-four  life-saving 
stations.  They  are  picturesque,  two-story  pine  houses  with 
gable  roofs,  and  are  fitted  for  the  comfortable  accommodation 
of  the  crews,  and  the  reception  of  the  life-saving  apparatus. 
On  many  portions  of  the  Atlantic  coast  they  are  not  more  than 
five  miles  apart,  and  are  located  at  dangerous  and  exposed 
points.  These  are  manned  from  September  ist  to  April  30th, 
the  season  of  most  inclement  weather ;  in  the  lake  region  the 
stations  are  kept  open  during  the  continuance  of  navigation. 

The  keeper  captains  a  crew  of  from  six  to  eight  surf  men. 
His  position  is  one  of  grave  responsibility,  requiring  sound 
judgment,  a  cool  head,  and  unflinching  courage.  He  must 
be  a  man  well-trained  in  his  vocation,  of  correct  habits,  and 


THE   U.    S.    tIFE-SAViNG   SERVICE.  25 1 

able  at  all  times  to  command  the  utmost  respect  and  obedience 
of  his  men. 

Both  keeper  and  crew  are  chosen  from  among  the  sturdy 
fishermen  that  dwell  on  the  shores  in  the  vicinit}^  of  the  station, 
and  who  have  lived  from  childhood  within  sound  of  the  surf. 
A  lifetime  experience  on  the  beaches  and  adjacent  waters 
inures  them  to  the  perils  and  hardships  which  obtain  along 
the  coast,  and  makes  them  thoroughly  familiar  with  the 
bordering  currents,  tides  and  places  of  danger.  From  occu- 
pation they  are  necessarily  skilled  and  fearless  surf-boatmen, 
and  all  possess  an  excellent  knowledge  of  every  part  of  a  ship, 
largely  acquired  through  wreck  operations. 

In  the  day  a  strict  lookout  is  kept  seaward  for  distressed 
craft,  and  during  the  inter^-al  of  night  between  sunset  and 
dawn,  the  patrolman  maintains  a  steady  vigil  along  the  beach. 
At  the  beginning  of  their  watch  two  surfmen  go  forth  in  either 
direction,  and  follow  the  shore  until  they  meet  the  patrolmen 
from  the  adjacent  stations.  Of  course,  when  the  latter  are 
remote  from  each  other  this  scheme  is  not  practicable,  and 
the  limit  of  the  beat  is  then  otherwise  regulated.  Thus  it  will 
be  seen  that  along  almost  the  entire  stretch  of  seacoast,  a 
faithful  line  of  sentinels  is  strung  out  steadily  tramping  the 
surf-washed  sands  on  the  watch  for  imperilled  vessels. 

Each  man  carries  a  Coston  signal  which,  when  exploded 
by  percussion,  emits  a  red  flame  that  flashes  far  out  over  the 
water  and  warns  the  unwary  ship,  approaching  too  near  the 
breakers  and  outlying  shoals,  of  impending  danger,  and  to 
stand  off,  or  assures  the  shipwrecked  that  help  is  close  at  hand. 

The  duty  of  the  beach  patrolman  is  always  arduous  and 
often  terrible.  A  solitary  tramp  on  the  drear}'  beaches  is  a 
task  at  any  time.  What  is  it  then  in  the  worst  conditions  of 
wind  and  weather,  against  cutting  sand-blasts,  in  drenching 
rain  and  flooding  tides,  surrounded  by  darkness,  and  deafened 
b}^  the  roar  of  the  storm,  with  quicksands  and  pitfalls  along 
the  path  ? 

Not  unfrequently  the  weary  marcher  becomes  exhausted 
and  bewildered  in  his  journey,  and  many  times  cannot  stand 


252 


THE   V.    S.    LIFE-SAVING   SERVICE. 


up  at  all  against  the  fury  of  the  tempest.  Yet  it  is  wonderful 
how  these  undaunted  men  plod  and  struggle  on  from  a  sense 
of  duty,  seldom  faltering,  and  never  once  giving  up  unless 
from  sheer  lack  of  vital  energy. 

The  beach  patrol  system  by  which  stranded  vessels  are  so 
promptly  discovered  is  a  feature  that  distinguishes  the  United 
States  ser\nce  from  all 
others  in  the  world,  and 
accounts  largely  for  its 
unparalleled  success  in 
rescuing    life   from   ship- 


The    Lyie    Gun    and    Breeches- Buoy. 

wreck.  At  certain  stations  where  the  shores  are  of  such  a 
nature  that  operations  can  be  facilitated  by  the  use  of  horses 
these  animals  are  supplied,  and  the  patrolmen  on  extended 
beats  often  go  mounted. 

There  are  five  principal  appliances  that  are  used  for  saving 
life  from  shipwreck.  The  first  of  these  is  the  cedar  six-oared 
surf-boat,  which  is  the  only  boat  that  has  yet  been  found 
suitable  to  launch  from  flat  beaches  through  the  shoaling 
waters  of  the  Atlantic  and  Gulf  coasts.  It  is  provided  with 
air-cases  which  make  it  insubmergible.  This  boat  being 
comparativel}'  light  can  be  hauled  long  distances  on  its  carriage 
abreast  of  wrecks.      Its  action  in  the  hands  of  expert  oarsmen 


THE   U.    S.    LIFE-SAVING   SERVICE.  253 

is  often  marvellous,  and  although  easily  capsized  there  are  not 
many  instances  on  record  in  the  service  where  it  has  been 
upset  with  fatal  results  while  passing  through  the  surf. 

Another  contrivance  is  the  self-righting  and  self-bailing 
English  life-boat,  which  embodies  the  best  elements  of  the 
boatmaker's  skill.  It  is  of  great  strength  and  stability,  though 
heavy  and  cumbersome,  and  is  only  adapted  to  use  along  steep 
shores,  or  where  it  can  be  launched  directly  into  deep  water. 

When  boat  service  is  impracticable,  resort  is  had  to  wreck 
ordnance.  A  small  bronze  smooth-bore  gun,  named  for  the 
inventor.  Captain  Lyle  of  the  army,  is  the  appliance  now  in 
general  use.  By  means  of  this  piece  a  line  is  fired  over  the 
vessel,  and  the  proper  gear  hauled  off.  Communication  is 
then  effected  either  by  the  life-car  or  breeches-buoy. 

The  life-car  is  made  of  galvanized  sheet  iron,  and  is  shaped 
like  a  covered  boat.  It  is  capable  of  carrying  five  or  six 
adults  at  a  time,  and  is  used  when  a  large  number  of  people 
are  to  be  saved.  It  has  frequently  been  employed  with 
marked  success,  and  at  its  first  trial  two  hundred  and  one 
persons  were  rescued  from  the  wreck  of  the  "  A3ashire,"  on 
the  New  Jersey  coast,  when  no  other  means  could  have 
possibly  availed. 

The  breeches-buoy,  on  account  of  its  being  much  lighter 
and  easier  to  transport  and  handle  is,  however,  more  commonly 
used,  as  the  greater  number  of  vessels  now  stranding  on  our 
coast  are  manned  by  crews  of  from  six  to  ten  men. 

This  contrivance  is  nothing  more  than  a  circular  life- 
preserver  of  cork  to  which  short,  canvas  breeches  are  attached  ; 
it  is  large  enough  to  hold  two  persons,  and  is  operated 
similarly  to  the  life-car  by  being  suspended  from  a  hawser, 
and  drawn  back  and  forth  with  lines. 

When  the  beach  patrol  at  night  or  station  lookout  in  the 
day  discovers  a  vessel  ashore,  he  takes  instant  measures  to 
alarm  the  crew.  The  condition  of  the  weather  and  surf  will 
always  indicate  to  the  keeper  whether  a  rescue  should  be 
attempted  by  the  use  of  a  boat,  the  life-car  or  breeches-buoy. 

Perhaps  the  boat  must  be  hauled  by  the  men  on  its  carriage 


254 


THE   U.    S.    LIFE-SAVING   SERVICE. 


through  the  soft,  yielding  sand  many  miles,  a  task  that 
frequently  requires  the  most  arduous  and  persevering  toil. 
There  is  always  the  difficulty  and  danger  of  making  a  launch 
through  the  treacherous  seas  that  tumble  and  burst  along  the 
beach  with  such  resistless  force. 

This  struggle  over,  the  height  of  human  skill  and  courage 
is  required  to  guide  the  buoyant  craft  on  its  errand  of  mercy 


Saved    by   the    Breeches- Buoy. 

through  the  running  breakers. 
Each  man  with  determined  visage 
watches  the  keeper  standing  at  the  steering  oar,  and  is 
responsive  to  his  every  movement  and  gesture.  Many  trials 
may  have  to  be  made  before  the  vessel  is  finally  reached,  and 
then  comes  the  adroit  manoeuvre  to  prevent  collision  with 
the  hull  or  injury  from  floating  w^reckage  and  falling  spars. 
The  imperilled  people,  often  driven  by  the  raging  seas  to  the 


THE   U.    S.    LIFE-SAVING   SERVICE.  255 

refuge  of  the  rigging,  clinging  there,  perhaps,  benumbed  and 
exhausted,  are  taken  off  as  chance  offers,  and  with  a  heavily 
laden  boat,  the  run  is  made  for  the  shore  on  the  top  of  swift- 
rolling  combers. 

In  case  the  seas  are  such  that  the  ill-fated  craft  cannot  be 
reached  with  a  boat,  the  mortar  cart  is  ordered  out.  The 
surf  men  must  either  trudge  with  it  over  the  flooded  beaches, 
or  else  pick  out  a  road  back  of  the  sand-hills,  not  unfrequently 
having  to  hew  their  way  through  brushwood  and  tangled 
thickets  to  the  scene  of  the  wreck. 

Arrived  on  the  spot  the  gear  is  quickly  got  in  readiness 
for  action,  each  man  promptly  performing  the  duty  assigned 
him.  The  line  is  then  fired  to  the  vessel,  and  soon,  if  nothing 
hinders  the  operations,  the  breeches-buoy  or  life-car  is  trav- 
elling with  its  passengers  to  and  fro  between  ship  and  shore. 

At  another  time  countless  obstacles  may  have  to  be 
overcome.  The  ropes,  as  they  are  sent  out,  may  snarl  or 
tangle  in  the  surf  or  current,  or  the  roll  of  the  vessel  snap 
them  asunder ;  the  imperilled  crew  may  bunglingly  do  their 
share  of  the  work,  or  something  else  ma^^  unexpectedly  happen 
to  tax  the  resources  at  hand,  and  put  the  patience  and  courage 
of  the  surf  men  to  the  severest  test. 

The  annals  of  the  Life-Saving  Servnce  are  replete  with 
splendid  deeds  of  fearless  daring.  Each  day's  record  adds 
to  the  roll  of  honor.  When  the  life-savers  went  off  through 
a  violent  sea  to  rescue  the  people  of  the  German  ship 
"  Elizabeth,"  which  stranded  on  the  Virginia  coast  in  January, 
1887,  all  but  two  of  the  boat's  crew  perished,  together  with 
the  entire  ship's  company',  numbering  twenty-two  ofiicers  and 
men. 

The  Emperor  of  Germany  ordered  a  generous  gift  of  monej^ 
to  be  equally  divided  among  the  families  of  the  five  surfmen 
who  were  drowned,  and  a  gold  watch,  embellished  with  his 
likeness  and  monogram,  to  be  presented  to  each  of  the  sur\nvors. 

A  notable  rescue  was  recently  achieved  by  the  crew  of  the 
Ship-Canal  Station,  I^ake  Superior.  Two  vessels,  a  steamer 
and   her   consort,  ran    ashore   six   miles   east   of    Marquette, 


256  THE   U.    S.    I.IFE-SAVING   SERVICE. 

Michigan,  during  the  prevalence  of  a  stormy  northeast  blow 
and  thick  weather  which  developed  into  the  severest  gale 
known  in  that  vicinity  for  years.  The  sea  raged  with  such 
fury  that  an  ordinary  boat  could  not  live  in  it. 

The  life-savers  were  telegraphed  for,  and,  putting  their 
apparatus  on  a  special  train,  rode  over  the  rails  a  winning 
race  of  more  than  a  hundred  miles,  and  after  almost  super- 
human efforts,  launching  and  pulling  their  ice-sheathed  boat 
through  prodigious  breakers,  rescued  in  a  blinding  snow- 
storm both  crews,  numbering  twenty-four  men,  when  had 
relief  been  delayed  an  hour  longer  all  might  have  perished. 

The  Life-Saving  Service  of  the  United  States  is  the  only 
governmental  establishment  of  its  kind  in  the  world,  all  other 
life-saving  institutions  being  maintained  wholly  or  in  part  by 
voluntary  contribution.  Since  the  introduction  of  the  present 
system  in  1871  to  June  30,  1893, —  a  period  of  twenty-two 
years, — property  to  the  value  of  nearly  one  hundred  and 
thirteen  millions  of  dollars  has  been  saved  within  the  scope  of 
station  operations.  The  total  number  of  persons  saved  is  fifty- 
six  thousand  one  hundred  and  sixty-two,  or  an  average  of 
two  thousand  five  hundred  and  fifty-two  a  year,  while  ten 
thousand  five  hundred  and  sixty-three  distressed  people  have 
been  succored  at  various  times  at  the  stations. 

Where  can  be  found  a  more  brilliant  record  in  the  cause  of 
humanity  ?  Yet  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  these  results 
have  only  been  attained  after  years  of  active  work  and  intel- 
ligent organization. 

Worth  G.  Ross. 


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The  Companion  Library. 

Selections  from  The  Youth's  Companion,  64  pages  each,  mith  many  pictures,  bound 
in  stiff  paper  covers. 

No.  1 .   Stories  of  Purpose — Bravery,  Tact  and  Fidelity. 

No.  2.   Glimpses  of  Europe — Travel  and  Description 
No.  3.    The  American  Tropics — Mexico  to  the  Equator. 

No.  4.   Sketches  of  the  Orient — Scenes  in  Asia. 
No.  5.   Old  Ocean— Winds,  Currents  and  Perils. 

No.  6.   Life  in  the  Sea — Fish  and  Fishing. 
No.  7.    Bits  of  Bird  Life— Habits,  Nests  and  Eggs. 

No.  8.   Our  Little  Neighbors— Insects,  Small  Animals. 
No.  9.   At  Home  in  the  Forest— Wild  Animals. 

No.  10.   In  Alaska — Animals  and  Resources. 
No.  11.   Among  the  Rockies— Scenery  and  Travel. 

No.   12.    In  the  Southwest — Senii-Troplcal  Regions. 
No.   13.    On  the  Plains — Pioneers  and  Ranchmen. 

No.  14.   The  Great  Lake  Country — A  Land  of  Progress. 
No.  15.    On  the  Gulf— The  States,  Florida  to  Texas. 

No.  16.   Along  the  Atlantic— New  York  to  Georgia. 
No.  17.   In  New  England— The  Home  of  the  Puritans. 

No.   18.    Stories  of  Success — Skill,  Courage,  Perseverance. 
No.  19.   Stories  of  Kindness — Examples  for  Rich  and  Poor. 

No.  20.   Student  Stories — Life  in  School  and  College. 
No.  21.    In  Porto  Rico — The  People,  Customs,  Progress. 

No.  22.    In  the  Philippines — Possession  and  Experiences. 
No.  23.    Mid-Ocean  America — Hawaii,  Samoa,  Pacific  Islands. 

No.  24.    Bravest  Deeds — Stories  of  Heroism. 
No.  25.   Sheer  Pluck— Facing  Danger  with  a  Purpose. 

No.  26.   Fearless  in  Duty — Acts  of  Courage. 
No.  27.  Our  President— Executive  Life  and  Duties. 

No.  28.   Our  National  Senate — Routine  of  Legislation. 
No.  29.   Our  Congressmen — Responsibilities  of  Lawmakers. 

No.  30.   Heroes  of  History — True  Stories  of  Bravery. 
No.  31.    Saved  by  Stratagem — Stories  of  Adroit  Manoeuver. 

No.  32.   The  Brink  of  Peril — Heroic  Escapes  from  Danger. 
No.  33.  Children's  Festivals— What  Little  Folks  Can  Do. 

No.  34.   The  First  Comers — Early  American  History. 
No.  35.   In  Colonial  Days — Struggles  of  Early  Settlers. 

No.  36.    The  Colonies  Alert — Gaining  Confidence. 
Price  10  Cents  each.  Post-paid. 

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The  Companion  Series. 

UNDER  THE   CROWN. 

Stories    and    Articles   descriptive  of  Early  American    History ;    comprising 
selections  34,  35,  36. 

OUR   NATIONAL  GOVERNMENT. 

The  Executive,  Legislative  and  Judicial  Divisions,  the    Officials   and    their 
Duties ;  comprising  selections  27,  28,  29. 

OUR   COUNTRY   EAST. 

The  Civilization,  Industries  and  Progress  of  the  earliest  settled  sections  of  the 
United  States;  comprising  selections  14,  15,  16,  17. 

OUR   COUNTRY   WEST. 

Characteristic  features  of  America  west  of  the  Mississippi  River,  including 
Alaska;   comprising  selections  10,  II,  12,  13. 

GREATER   AMERICA. 

Descriptive  and  historical  accounts  of  Porto  Rico,  the  Philippines,  Hawaii, 
Samoa  and  Guam  ;  comprising  selections  21,  22,  23. 

BY   LAND   AND   SEA. 

A  book  of  travel  in  Europe,  Asia  and  the  Tropics  of  America,  and  over  the 
ocean  ;  comprising  selections  2,  3,  4,  5. 

TALKS   ABOUT   ANIMALS. 

Descriptions  of  Birds,  Insects,  Wild  Animals  and  Fishes,  and  man's  power 
over  them  ;  comprising  selections  6,  7,  8,  9. 

PURPOSE   AND   SUCCESS. 

Stories    of    Bright  Achievement,  inspiring,  uplifting  and   practicable;    com- 
prising selections  1 ,  18,  19,  20. 

DARING   DEEDS. 

Stories  of  Courage,  Heroism  and  Faithfulness,  arousing    the    ambition    for 
noble  action  ;  comprising  selections  24,  25,  26. 

HEROIC   ADVENTURES. 

Stories  of  Brave  Deeds  in  Perilous  Places  and  Heroic  Escapes  from  Danger ; 

comprising  selections  30,  3 1 ,  32. 

Bound  in  Strong  Linen.  Illustrated.  Price  50  cents  each. 


The  Companion  Classics: 

Arthur  Henry  Hallam,  by  Hon.  William  Ewarl  Gladstone. 
A  Boy  Sixty  Years  Ago,  by  Hon.  George  F.  Hoar. 
Famous  Americans,  by  Hon.  Justin  McCarthy. 
Recollections  of  Gladstone,  by  Rt.  Hon.  James  Bryce. 

Paper  Covers.  Price  10  cents  each. 


14  DAY  USE 

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LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

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2ito'63flV. 

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